Transition Without
by Sythlia
Summary: Be warned; Heavy game spoilers within! Above them, a river of Light, Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting, Beneath their feet, The footprints of the Maker, And all around them echoed a vast Silence. - excerpt from The Chant of Light: The Blight
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Alright. The story and characters within are owned by Bioware. I can only take half credit for making a Cousland. Be forewarned that you shouldn't be read unless you've played through the game. It will be quite spoilerish otherwise. Please let me know what you think of this piece of work. Would it you be eager to read more? What are your thoughts? Feel free to leave me some feedback and I'll proceed from there. This idea was bursting to come out and I happily obliged. Thanks for reading!!

* * *

She was certain she saw him in her final moment, she managed a faint smile at that. In that brief climatic explosion, everything vanished.

Sinking...

The world melted away in that brilliant moment of light. The contents of her life slipped away like a gentle tide. Her life, her family, her love and her last sacrifice - all of it were swept away in the ebb and flow of this tranquil amber stream.

She felt everything around her and yet nothing at all. Words nor thoughts could not give this transition a respectable description. It simply _was_ and she was now a part of it. As she became part of the current, she could feel everyone that had touched her life, from her parents to even those she had faced in combat. Everyone was at peace here, all a part of a whole. She could feel as she started to merge with this everflow, her thoughts and memories joining in stride with those most familiar to her.

She had never felt at such peace as she did in this moment. The warmth, the joy and the completion brought utter contentment to her being. Everything that had come before meant little here as did the span of time. Her very essence was part of this radiant progression, welcoming and joining with the many lives that had come before.

She was no longer a Cousland. She was no longer Lady or Grey Warden. She was... was...

**_Return..._**

As the voice echoed through her and within the amber flow, the river started to recede from around her, flinching and rejecting the source of this forbidden touch.

_No! Don't go! Don't leave me! Please! _

Her thoughts reached out in desperate attempt, the ribbons sliding out of reach as she felt something cold touch her very core. Icy tendrils ensnared, seeping away that warmth.

_**Return, A...**_

She had become an unwelcome obstruction. She could feel as the cold started to tug hard on her, ripping her strand by strand until she was fully dismembered from the light. The shock was overwhelming, releasing a echo across the flow.

_**Return, Aydalis.**_

Her name. How it _stung_! With the advent of her name, the many memories of her past life flooded back in without rhyme or reason. Overwhelming, disconnected, everything falling into the wrong place.

Voices of her detached past bombarded her.

_'I don't know about you, but I'm hoping for a miracle.'_

_'I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.'_

_'A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once.'_

_'Enchantment?'_

_'We stand on the precipice, before the greatest battle of our age... I wonder if the heroes of old ever felt like this.'_

_'Well, look here. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man.'  
_

The icy hold dragged her further and further away, from that brilliance descending into the very dense fog below.

***** Weisshaupt *****

"Come! Come quickly!" A guard announced at the top of his lungs. Once he had the attention of couple of fellow Grey Wardens, they rushed into the night, torches held aloft.

The guard guided them to the hallowed tombs of those honored for vanquishing each Blight. The massive doors stood open to the elements. The captain on duty took to the forefront, shining his torch close to the ground.

The armor given to a warden-commander laid strewn about, starting from the door and into the further darkness. On closer inspection of the armor, it was newly made. _So they aren't here for the riches... Who could be so demented to disturb such a revered place?_

The small unit ventured into Aydalis Cousland's tomb, finding all kinds of broken equipment and other pieces of her armor and effects laying about. Her remains were gone from her stone resting place, the only thing that could account for being missing.

"How did this happen?!" The captain seethed, holding the breastplate up to empathize his point.

The guard blanched. "I d-don't know. I was planning to change shifts with Herrold..."

"You two, return to the hall, get every lazy ass available out here and try to find Herrold. You three, come with me, let us try to find this thief. Be on your guard. If they have the means to break into our vaults, they've come prepared." The captain pointed at the guard. "You stay with me as well."

As three guards tried to assess the tomb with more torchlight, the captain turned back to join his men.

No sooner that he turned, the captain would never make it into the tomb, nor anywhere else. It had only taken one brief moment of deception, the false guard made one quick, precise cut through the captain's throat. The sound of his dead weight hitting the ground would attract the rest.

The guard had to be prepared. "A bit sloppy, but a little carnage gets the blood pumping."

When a full unit arrived, they found the bloody aftermath of their former brethren with little in the way of a true lead to hunt down.

None of them, even the false guard, noticed the eyes of a lone dog watching them with quiet interest.

*******

Time had resumed, yet it was only a shade of itself in this blurred, uncertain crag that Ayda found herself. The cold presence was gone and now she was here alone. It felt so very odd to feel all in one place again. All in one piece.

She tried to remember. Her memories roared in her mind, out of sequence and all flooding to the surface at once. A small cry issued from her, unable to steel herself completely in the onslaught. Whatever or whoever that trespasser had been left her a jumbled mess of what she had once was.

Eventually, the cacophony offered up a word: _Fade._

"Correct." A welcoming voice cut through the swath of her mind. "Now open your eyes and see."

Her vision was returned to her, further connecting her back down into a singular being. When she could focus enough, she found herself standing in front of a motionless, black lake surrounded in all directions by tall, green-gold grass. The sky was darkened in twilight with no stars to be seen.

"Remember the sensation of touch."

She looked down at her toes, kneading them into the soft sand of the shore. As a gentle wind passed by, she closed her eyes in the rush of feeling every part of herself again, starting to feel like being her old self again. She didn't want this. Not at all.

"Speak."

Ayda shook her head, her fingers covering her eyes. She wanted to shut everything out. It was a futile gesture, she knew.

"Join me by the fire."

Her eyes opened, falling upon the small campfire by the shore only a few steps from her. _When had that gotten there?_

"It's always been here. You hadn't noticed it until now." The voice beckoned from a figure sitting on a dead log by the fire, poking at the embers with a long, thin stick.

She couldn't recall when she took a seat adjacent to the figure, her eyes staring blankly into the depths of the fire.

"What do you see?"

Her voice found itself at that moment. "My life. Why is it...? Why am I...?" She groaned inwardly, her thoughts railing against her once more.

"That is the question, isn't it?" The figure stirred the fire a bit more. She tried to concentrate on this being for the first time, seeing yet not able to focus on its true form.

"Who are you?" She managed without receiving a mental backlash.

The figure shook its head. "You are not meant to be here, Aydalis. I was able to save you from being pulled completely through, but I am afraid that the path I set you on will be no less perilous."

It was hard to concentrate on his words, her hands returning to clasp her face as another wave assaulted her. "Return me."

"If I could, you would not be asking me such. It is beyond what I can do in my present state."

Her head rested in her hands, her elbows propped up on her knees. The less sensory she took in, the easier she found it to listen and find her voice. "How do I return?"

"There is no easy way to return. It was never meant to be invaded in such a way. It is not to say many have not tried before and only obtained small pieces, yet someone managed to free your essence from the fold completely. It is no small feat."

"So you didn't bring me here?"

"Like I said before, I plucked you away and now you are here. I could not glean anything from this outside force as to its intentions. The only knowledge I can impart is that it was powerful blood magic performed in the mortal realm."

Her form felt heavier with every word. "What should I do?"

"That is hard to advise. Your essence is not as it was when first created. When you merged with the archdemon Urthemiel, your spirit was the greater, inheriting what was left of the old dragon god after its corruption."

She cringed, her memories rushing into her senses in a violent wave.

* * *

_A tall man stood before her, adorned in battered dark-blue armor. His helm tucked under his arm with sword and shield kept on his back. His light-brown eyes held such unspoken sadness despite a loose smile hanging on his lightly-stubbled chin._

_His voice almost felt like velvet over her battle-heightened senses, standing in front of fortifications and burning wreckage within Denerim. "But there's no use in arguing about it, is there? We don't have time and... you are a stubborn, stubborn woman."_

_"That I am." It was hard for her to even speak, yet so much harder to meet his steady gaze._

_Alistair ran a gauntlet-covered hand over the back of his neck. "I guess this is the last chance we'll get... before this is finished, one way or another."_

_It took a great deal of resolve to keep herself there, smiling a little too effortlessly. She placed her hand gently on his warm cheek. "I love you, Alistair."_

_Without a moment's hesitation, Alistair pulled her into a semi-awkward embrace, armor permitting. As his lips hovered over hers in their final embrace, his words drowned out the sounds of imminent battle._

_"And I love you. Always."_

_

* * *

_

Ayda felt a touch on her shoulder, her head snapping from her hands as the figure steadied her. Mildly shaken, she settled back on the log once she came to her senses.

"Why did that feel so real? That was a memory, wasn't it?"

The figure nodded. "Yes, the Fade can make your past come back to life before you. You will need to be careful not to be caught within its hold. It will be a difficult road you have to travel. It is fortunate that I am able to send someone to aid you along your way."

As he spoke those words, two women approached the fire. They both seemed familiar. The figure squeezed the hand of the first woman who smiled warmly in return.

The other woman circled around the fire, approaching her. "Ah, you probably don't recognize this young face of mine." She chuckled. "And here I thought I these old bones were going to get a chance to rest."

Ayda squinted at the woman standing before her, watching as the young face reverted to the age she would remember. Her heart leapt in both happiness and sank as the pang of guilt hit her.

"Wynne... why are you here?"

Wynne wore that warm smile of hers. "I was passing along on my way when this nice man asked me for a favor. He asked if I could guide you along the Fade. How could I refuse?"

Ayda rubbed her temple in brief pain. "If this is the Fade, how do I know this isn't an elaborate trick set up by a curious demon?"

"You are already dead." The figure, taking the form of a man, stated. "This you already knew, but you are on same footing as the demons and spirits now. However, we are not past the Black City. They can not venture here. At least, not without a great deal of focused power that most can not manage alone."

As Wynne took a seat next to her, Ayda stared at the fire again. "I suppose I'll simply have to believe." Her eyes flickered over to the unnamed woman, trying to place her face. "What is the purpose of traveling the Fade? How can I return when my body..."

The man-figure held up a hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. "You will return as my avatar."

Ayda returned her gaze to him. Her thoughts scrambled to be heard: _The Maker_. "You're the Maker." She stated unnecessarily, needing to hear the words. "I was never the most pious of people. Wynne here would be an excellent choice."

Wynne shook her head, tossing a piece of dry bark into the flames. "My life has been lived quite fully. The Spirit gave me enough time to assist with rebuilding the Circle and help Alistair out when I could. That boy needs a lot of looking after." She laughed, continuing. "I'm content to help you along your way. Then I can rest."

Ayda felt her heart twist at the mention of _'rest'_. "Will this put me back on the path to reach that kind of serenity again?"

The man-figure nodded. "If you succeed, you will become mortal, returning to life at the same age you left it. When you arrive, there will be someone awaiting you."

"If I succeed? Is there a chance to fail?"

"I will not lie to you. As I will grant you my protection to shield you from most sight in the Fade, my influence is not as it once was. However, your soul shines so remarkably, the archdemon purified in your essence and you becoming stronger for it. This will be your power even as you walk the earth again."

"My power? What am I to accomplish with the Blight vanquished?" She paused, her eyes widening. "Did the Blight not end?"

"Your sacrifice brought the Blight to a close, that is true. With each Blight, each dragon is freed from its corruption. This taint does not need to remain as it was never meant for the punishment given to be perverted this far. It is time for it to come to an end and this is where you come in."

Ayda shook her head, all this input flooding her already overloaded senses. "There have been Wardens before who have vanquished the Blight. Why didn't they ever come to this fire and have this night-time chat?"

"I could not reach them in time before they completely dissolved into the fold. Now, I can not reach it without risking bringing undue notice upon myself. I did not expect to be able to reach one as yourself till every archdemon had been purified."

Ayda rose to her feet a tad too quickly, nearly losing her balance before Wynne was at her side, her hand gripping her shoulder. She smiled faintly at her. "So that's it, is it? How will I bring the taint to an end?"

"That can be discussed along the way." The man-figure tossed the stick into the fire. "If I keep you here elaborating every aspect, time will pass too quickly in the corporeal plane."

He reached into the flickering flames, pulling out a tall whitewood staff from its depths as the fire disappeared within. Two griffins perched atop, holding an iridescent white gem in the center as the bark spiraled downward until forming the rest of the shaft. The man-figure stood, holding the staff out to Ayda. "This will connect us and assist in lighting the way through the Fade."

Ayda took the staff with such reverence. She had been a warrior in life and had only used staves in practice sessions. It would honestly have a better place in Wynne's hands, but she knew this isn't something to crack wise about. She nodded her head, gazing at the visage of lost griffins of yore.

The man-figure took the unnamed woman's hand, placing it on his arm. "I know your heart is filled with questions. Answers will come, I promise. I will aid you as much as I can as will the allies in my service. When you are ready, step into the lake. Until we meet again, I will be watching over you both." In a rush of wind, they were gone within the tall grass.

Wynne smoothed back her hair out of old habit. "It seems we have quite a walk ahead of us."

"Wynne. I apologize for what I asked you to do." Ayda admitted after a long pause, staring off in the direction the two had left in. She let the staff touch the ground for the first time, it stood almost half a foot above her.

"If I didn't want to do you that last favor, I would have said no. It was my choice and I stand by it. You came to me with such unmoving determination. I knew you were set on your path." The old woman ventured away from the remains of the campsite, towards the lake.

As Ayda followed after, another blinding flash ripped through her.

* * *

_The three nights before the final assault. The stand of the ancient alliance against a nearly insurmountable force. So much needed to be done and so much was already prepared. The night was cold and crisp, yet it could not cool the depths of her being._

_Ayda practiced heavily with her sword in the moonlit courtyard, going through each routine in kind. It did little to assuage the heaviness that permeated her being. She should be reveling in one final night within Alistair's embrace. It wouldn't take much to convince him. It took everything she had to keep herself from falling apart. She had made a decision; the third option was lost._

_Her swings grew faster, screaming through the chilled air as her anger found no solace in her usual training. When she thought she was alone, there was one who was waiting for her to stop._

_Wynne approached at a wide breadth, coming into Ayda's field of vision. "Slow down, child, or you'll have nothing left for the days to come."_

_Upon hearing her motherly tone, Ayda breathed hard, letting the momentum she built up die down to a stop. "You say that as if I could calm down on the night such as this. So much is at stake."_

_Wynne grabbed up the coat haphazardly tossed on the wall nearby, bringing it over now that the swordplay was over. "I can understand not being able to sleep. As I risk being labeled a nosy old woman for this, why not spend the night resting with Alistair? Or is it his snoring that's driven you out into this frost?"_

_Ayda snorted, sheathing her runic blade within its worn scabbard at her side. "I see what you're trying to do. And no, his snoring didn't drive me out here. I... just can't face him right now."_

_Wynne arched an eyebrow, holding the coat out to Ayda. "It sounds like there's a story behind this."_

_As Ayda shrugged into the coat, she related the course the night had taken: Riordan's revelation on how destroying the archdemon would also kill the Grey Warden who delivered the final blow and Morrigan's third option that involved her laying with Alistair to conceive a child that very night that would absorb the archdemon once killed while saving that Grey Warden in the process._

_They had walked together through courtyard at a slow pace. As Ayda divulged those words, she was able to shoulder the burden with a cooler head. Wynne didn't interrupt, nodding here and there when need arose._

_"I stood in front of Morrigan with that choice in my hands. It would've been so easy to tell her that it was a good idea, convince Alistair somehow that sleeping with Morrigan was something I wanted to happen and all Grey Wardens get to live another day. So easy and I said no."_

_Wynne nodded once, her eyes gazing upwards at the night sky. "I think you made the right decision. Whatever Morrigan had planned to use, I'm certain it wouldn't result in anything that didn't serve her and Flemeth's interests. Did she honestly offer that choice simply because you've become her friend? No. Like you said, she was sent here for this very purpose, regardless of her feelings."_

_"And that leaves me with one choice, Wynne." Ayda stopped by the bottom of the courtyard stairs, glancing at the keep thoughtfully. "I know Alistair would never allow himself to sit out on this fight. I told Riordan that I wouldn't mind taking the final blow, now that I think about it, it will only spur Alistair to make a reckless decision. One that he should not make. The kingdom needs him."_

_Wynne huffed, her breath visible on the air for a few seconds. "And this is where I say that Alistair needs you. However, if Riordan is unable to make the last stand, how can you stop our young king from rushing ahead?"_

_"That's where I need to ask you a favor. If I have to get down on the ground and beg, I will. I can call upon all the resources..." Ayda started to ramble, her eyes darting feverishly as she tried to think what she could offer._

_"Stop." Wynne motioned dismissively, her anger sitting plainly on her face. "You think I wouldn't do this for you? You've become one of the closest friends I've ever had the pleasure to know. If you are completely, absolutely determined, I will do this task for you."_

_Ayda turned to Wynne sharply, her light-brown eyes looking into hers. Her face was set in stone, her gaze unwavering. "Thank you, Wynne. Thank you, thank you..." She fell to one knee, her head bowed to hide the tears that threatened to fall as well._

_"Get up! Get up!" Wynne shook Ayda's shoulder twice, feeling quite taken back and embarrassed at such sudden breakdown. She could hear a few sniffles before Ayda rose back to her feet, wiping at her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.  
_

_Ayda reached into the coat pocket, bringing forth a tidy stack of letters. "I meant to give these to Alistair. While I only meant to write one, I wrote several as I felt the one before it didn't do it justice. I stood outside his door before coming out here, but I chickened out of all things to waffle on." She bowed her head. "C-could you please give these to him after?"_

_Wynne silently held her hand open, receiving the letters without another word or gesture. She managed a tight smile. "Only letters for him? Everyone might be a bit sad you didn't write them..." She let out a honest laugh once Ayda slipped another stack of letters into her grasp._

_Ayda smiled broadly, her teeth flashing as she could find solace in Wynne's given word. __She ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, enjoying the feel of the cool bite of the night air. __They strode up the stairs together slowly, one step at a time.  
_

_"There you are. And here, I thought you had run off to leave poor me all by his lonesome." Alistair called down from the top of the stairs, his tunic half-tucked into his barely-laced pants. His hair was a mess and there was a half-eaten roll in one hand._

_"My word, young man! Did you run around the Chantry in the same fashion?" Wynne shielded her eyes, more out of amusement than actual shock._

_"Why, yes. This style was all the rage in the Chantry." Alistair took a glance down at his state of dress, shoving the rest of the bread into his mouth. "I gu-eess I shh-ould..."_

_Ayda tried to hold a disapproving gaze, her lip twitching more and more as she tried to hold her amusement in._

_Wynne closed her eyes, lowering her hand once she reached the top of the stairs to face Alistair. "I leave the young king in your hands, my dear. You get the pleasure of dealing with..." She paused, trying to find the right word and ultimately failing. "this." She chuckled merrily, waving a hand as she slid through keep door left slightly open in his wake._

_"Hey. What's that supposed to mean? THIS?" Alistair called after her. "Wynne? W--ynne?" He wore a slight pout, marching down the stairs barefooted.  
_

_"What exactly will I do with you? You're going to catch a chill with no coat or boots on." Ayda chided motherly, trying to meet him halfway before he got too far from the warmth of the keep._

_Alistair raised his eyebrows, brushing his fingers through his reddish-brown mess of hair, not helping in the slightest. "Oh! I could think of a lot of things." He paused. "Wait a second, is this one of those trick question women ask to get the advantage?"_

_"I wasn't aware that I had lost the advantage, my dear Alistair." She laughed under her breath, empathizing the last three words._

_With one deft swoop, Alistair scooped her right off her feet, into his solid embrace. "Methinks you have, dear lady." He climbed up the stairs, reaching the top with little effort. "Besides, how am I supposed to wear a coat when you're conveniently wearing mine?"_

_"Fine, fine. You win, my liege." Ayda remarked drolly. She knew she'd get a half-pout for referring to him in his official title. "Oh, come now. I was only trying to be silly."_

_"I know." His tone had sobered, the laughter had slipped from his usual jovial expression. "I just have doubts..."_

_Ayda touched his cheek with a gentle touch, locking his somber gaze with her own. "We all have decisions to make. Everything will work out. I'm sure of it." She pulled close, placing a reassuring kiss to his lips. "I have the utmost confidence in you. Always know that."_

_"Can you give me more of that utmost confidence? It's exactly what I was looking for when I came out here." He chuckled half-heartedly. "Preferably in a warmer setting."_

_"So picky, you are." Ayda smirked. "Back to Alistair's quarters!" She announced a bit louder than usual._

_Alistair returned the smile. "Great. Now everyone will be at my... Aha! I got it. Give them the ruse while we sneak to yours instead. Genius."_

_

* * *

_

Again, Ayda was jolted back into her current state of mind, feeling somewhat drained after that recently surfaced memory. Wynne propped her up once again until she came to.

"I'm still out of sorts, Wynne."

Wynne shook her head, releasing her as they both stood at the edge of the black lake. "Andraste was kind enough to let me know this might be a symptom. She was glad that you were mostly intact. If you ever feel a spell coming on, just tug on my sleeve."

Ayda raised her eyebrows. "That's why she looks familiar. The statues do her little justice." She added, noticing the lake was full of stars while the sky above had been noticeably empty. "I usually don't get much prior warning, but I'm starting to feel more together after each spell. I guess this is simply a way to sort everything back to where it should be."

"What did you remember?"

"When I asked for the favor and the letters." Ayda admitted, leaning a bit more weight on the staff than she realized.

Wynne stared out over the lake. "Don't worry. Everything was taken care of. Whatever you wrote him, I'm sure he followed. He became extremely driven to reunite the kingdom."

"Wait." Ayda cut Wynne off before she could explain further. "How much time has passed? If you're here, that means..."

"Just realizing that, are you?" Wynne wore that calm smile of hers. "As for time, it's hard to say since I arrived here. My last days were close to ten years after the Blight came to an end."

Ayda gaped ever-so-slightly, shaking her head as she brought herself back together. "Lets get a move on. I wouldn't be surprised by simply chatting here that another five years have gone by."

They both nodded in unison, stepping into the lake at the same time.

And like that, they were gone into the starry lake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews! Hopefully, I can do some justice to this story. It's likely that this will be its own offshoot, since I'm sure the game will go on and likely off in a different direction. Until that time, I'll continue writing and hoping that I can get this tangled mess out into coherent chapters to come. I apologize if this isn't the most exciting chapter, but I'm a sucker for build-up. I still think it's interesting and I hope you find it that way too. Thanks for continuing to stick with my story! Side note: Kir is the name I gave the dog. :)

* * *

***** Encampment, The Hinterlands *****

For once, he managed to borrow a nearly full battalion in his latest excursion into the harsher forests in the southern Hinterlands. It was still inspiring to see the everyone working together, even with the tenuous bonds that the recent Blight reforged. It was still enough to dedicate an active force of all three races to pursue after the darkspawn that still infested the surface.

His true plan of bringing the fight down into the Deep Roads had hit a veritable wall. The dwarves said they've been holding darkspawn back for centuries and would not do more unless the other races committed a sizable force. The human council were even more dead set to his cause, claiming that they couldn't afford to send more men due to still reeling from the costs of rebuilding Denerim and other villages decimated in the Blight's wake. The elves were still quite scattered and disorganized. The ones that lived in the city were still looked down upon, despite his best efforts to give them more rights and better quality of life. The Dalish were the only ones he had more success with, and that's not saying much compared to what assistance he garnered up to this point.

Alistair leaned back in his ornate wooden chair, gazing at the maps layered over each other in front of him. He rubbed at the short beard on his chin in contemplation, trying to plot the best route to comb their current area. The terrain started to become more uneven the further south they ventured, giving any who would dare an eagle eye's view and a certain advantage.

"Your Majesty." A heavy-breathing voice beckoned from the entrance flap of his tent.

Alistair straightened in his seat, thankful that he was only wearing his light leather instead of his usual heavy armaments. It would've certainly hurt a _lot_ in this instance.

"What can I do for you, erm...?" He was at loss for a name.

The man blinked, bowing fully. "My name is Kinnley, sire. There's an urgent message from the Grey Warden headquarters in Weisshaupt."

Alistair's blood ran cold for a moment, motioning the man to approach. The guards within his tent circled closer out of force of habit. "Was there a written correspondence or was this delivered verbally through the Circle?"

"Written, sire. Straight from the Anderfels." The guard to the messenger's right took the message, handing it to the king promptly.

Alistair's gaze flickered from left to right, rereading the words twice before returning his attention to the messenger. "You have my utmost thanks in getting this here. It's unusual this isn't brought through the Circle, but I can see the reasons behind it." He motioned to the guard to his left. "Please make sure he finds a place to rest among our camp and compensate him double for his effort."

"T-thank you, my king!" Kinnley bowed twice quickly before being escorted from the tent. The guards moved back to the entrance as Alistair looked at the parchment in his hands again.

He didn't understand a damn word of it. The message was encoded.

"Leymon, do you know if Leliana has departed our company?" He asked one of his current guards.

Leymon glanced up a moment in thought, shaking his head. "I'm certain that she wasn't planning to leave until tomorrow."

"Please go find her and bring her here. Tell it's quite important."

Leymon nodded, slipping out of the tent without a moment's hesitation.

He tucked the message under the map in front of him, resuming his study of this area's terrain. Leliana had a bad habit of saying she'd be right there, then take over three hours to show up. _I never knew delivering sermons would always conveniently occur whenever I need to see her. At least, it has to be more interesting than listening to the sermons._

Much to his surprise, Leymon returned with Leliana in tow, brushing her hands fitfully over her Chantry robes. It appears he caught her in the middle of something. He couldn't resist a half-smile at her expectant gaze.

Leymon bowed once as he made his exit to his post. Leliana sighed softly, glancing down idly at the maps before Alistair. "I'm here, your Highness. What do you need of me?"

Alistair snorted, shaking his head. "Oh, don't start your usual 'holier than thou' attitude." He kept her gaze. "It's nice to hear someone uses my name for a change. No honorifics, no majesties, just plain old Alistair. Please, grant this king his humble request."

Leliana crossed her arms, managing a small grin. "As you keep telling me. Sometimes it's fun to see what kind of speech you'll give me this time for not obeying a humble king's request."

He shook his head, laughing heartily despite trying to be serious. "I can never win with you, can I?" His expression sobered, his hand reaching for the note under his maps. He held the note up to her. "Will you be able to...?"

Leliana scanned the message, giving a silent nod. He pushed his ink and quill to the other side of the table. It took no more than thirty minutes. He watched her intently, noticing her features pale and the quill still as she finished.

She gave the message a soft blow, drying the ink before handing it back to him. Alistair turned his attention to the translation.

**_'Weisshaupt. The revered crypt of those who ended each Blight have been trespassed upon. Only one tomb was disturbed. The only thing missing were her remains. The guards on duty were slain. Only broken tools were found amongst the armor and effects left behind. The trail has grown cold. No suspects have been detained.'_**

Alistair blanched at first, feeling his anger starting to rise as the realization sunk in. _They disturbed her remains?! How could I have failed her..._

Leliana's voice cut through his temper. "For that to be even possible, it would require a force that is made for infiltration and extraction on a very skilled level. There are very few that could break into such places and be able to get away without a trace."

"Do you mean that the Crows might have a hand in this?" He whispered, leaning over his maps so only Leliana could hear him, his semi-longish red-brown hair almost sliding into his gaze.

Leliana's gaze instantly turned a bit panicked, darting left and right before she was able to look him in the eye again. "Perhaps. There's no mention of magical interference, only discarded tools."

"Look, Aylin is safe here. He's not responsible for this and I will never take out anything against him unless it's by his own hand. Besides, he's only nine and seems only capable of annoying my guards with unending questions." Alistair reassured her, knowing that it was what likely caused her sudden agitation.

"I know. You have my unending thanks in that." She bit her lower lip, a rare sign of nervous emotion he had rarely seen in Leliana. "I'm talking about myself. I swear on the Maker's good grace, that what I had with Zevran was little more than a tryst all those years ago. It gave me Aylin. He is my life's joy apart from serving the Chantry. Please believe me in this."

Alistair leaned back in his chair, tucking the message within his overcoat. "You put me in a hard position, Leliana. To even mention that I could doubt you when we've traveled off and on these long years. Ayda saw the goodness in you despite your past and you've turned away from it by embracing the Chantry."

When the tense silence started to settle, he asked the question she knew he would ask. "Do you still have contact with everyone's favorite Antivan?"

She shook her head, glancing downward as she stood before his judgment. He reached to pat her folded hands. "Lay aside your worries, Leliana. You have been a true inspiration to my men and have brought your light to shine on us all. I'll never doubt your word, so long as you never doubt mine."

It hurt him to even have to put her in such a spot. It was times like these that he hated being the king the most. He lacked the freedom to storm off in the direction of Weisshaupt to investigate these matters fully without the kingdom flying into a bloody uproar over it and now he had to be the bad guy to one of his dearest friends.

"Now then, do we know anyone trustworthy that is even marginally close to Weisshaupt or the Anderfels in general?" Alistair offered.

"None I know of. Oghren is further south of here with the scouts. Sten, Zevran and Shale have returned to their prospective homesteads. Wynne and Kir have passed on. Morrigan disappeared that last night at Redcliffe..." Leliana rattled off the information, frowning slightly as she brought up the deserter.

Alistair rubbed a hand over his short beard in thought. "That leaves us with few options."

"It's likely that whoever is behind this is no longer in Weisshaupt. If the Crows are the ones behind this, asking them for assistance will only expose us before we are even any closer to an answer. The quickest method is that I might be able to do is to return to Denerim and see if any of the bards and other contacts I know might have any information." Leliana listed the available options, none of her usual confidence behind her words.

"I suppose that might be our only option unless the Weisshaupt Grey Wardens find any other substantial evidence." He sighed in frustration, his brow furrowed. "Be swift, Leliana. We'll be stationed here for two more weeks."

Leliana gave an affirmative nod. "I will leave tonight if I can get a few men to escort me."

"Done. I'll make sure a few men are saddled up and ready to go in an hour."

"Alistair? I'll need to leave Aylin in your care if I'm to make the best time." Leliana breached the subject.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "What? Don't trust that he'll be safe here? It's not the first time I've had the pleasure of keeping an eye on the little scamp."

Leliana managed to find a faint smile. "Safe? Yes. Safe from your boys' mischief? No."

"By the Maker, what have they done this time? Are they still giving him a hard time?" Alistair grumbled. As much as he loved them, they were prone to causing trouble. Almost like a chip off the old block.

"I'll give both of them a piece of my mind later tonight. I should never let my beloved Queen talk me into bringing them yet, they are still too young." Both of his sons, Donel and Bryce, at the age of five and six, were a bit young to take within a darkspawn hunt. Granted, their numbers were pretty minimal at the moment, but anything is possible out in this wilderness.

Leliana brightened a bit. "They're bright, energetic boys and they love playing with Aylin to pieces. I just worry that they'll wander off and there won't be a steady eye on them at all times. It's simply a mother's worry. I should never doubt the king's protection."

Alistair smirked in her direction. "Ouch, my dear priestess, I walked headfirst into that. Serves me right." He called Leymon forth, whispering to him his instructions with Leliana close by. His guard gave a quick nod, disappearing out of the tent to carry out his orders.

"I'll personally make sure that they are kept an eye on. With the scouts still out on reconnaissance, there's little for me to do otherwise than brood intensely over these maps." Alistair stood from his chair, hearing a few joints pop in the process. He grimaced slightly, taking a moment to stretch his limbs before circling around the table.

Leliana chuckled, the color returning to her cheeks. "Going to see me off?"

He offered her his arm in gentlemanly fashion which she accepted without a second's hesitation. "That I am. I've been cooped up in here most of the day, I think it's time to spend some time with the boys and enjoy a hearty meal."

As they emerged from his personal tent, Alistair escorted her in the direction of the roaring campfire. The smell of the thick stew hit his senses, instantly bringing that ever-present hunger to the surface of his thoughts. He had hoped that this would be one symptom of the taint that would settle down with time, yet he found that to be the complete opposite. _Did Duncan always feel this hungry? Or is it just how the taint affected my system? Perhaps I'm just an odd case. That answer works almost 95% of the time.  
_

No sooner than Aylin came into sight, both Bryce and Donel were running in tow, yelling after Aylin as he ran ahead with the leather ball. Leliana cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out to her son in one loud call. Not only did it get the attention of her son, but just about half the soldiers in the encampment.

Alistair couldn't resist cracking a smile, watching Aylin walk up humbly to his mother with the amused laughter of the nearby soldiers at his back. Upon seeing their father, Bryce and Donel ran up to his sides, giving him a tight hug around his waist as Alistair patted their shoulders proudly.

Leliana put her hands on her hips. "What did I tell you to do before I got back?"

"It was only just one more game. We were tied!" Aylin exclaimed, holding the ball in both hands. "They wouldn't accept that I won fair and square, so we had to have a rematch."

"Nuh-uh! We saw you cheat!" Bryce tossed back, emboldened now that he was at his father's side.

"Cheat!" Donel mimicked his brother, ducking behind Alistair after daring to speak out.

Aylin smiled smugly over at the inseparable pair. "I did not. It's not my fault if you are both shorter than me."

For that remake, Leliana gave him a little swat on the back of the head and diffusing the situation at the same time. "What am I going to do with you, Aylin? I need you to be a good boy when I'm gone."

"Gone?" Aylin blinked, forgetting the escalating argument from seconds before. "Where are you going? We weren't planning to leave back for Lothering until tomorrow. Why can't I come with you?"

Leliana threw her arms around her son, drawing him into a close hug. "I have some urgent business that I must attend to. I need you to be a good boy. I promise I won't be more than a week."

Aylin lent into her warm embrace. "I promise, mother." He added. "Will I get a souvenir if I'm good?"

"We'll see. We'll see. If I hear one word from His Majesty that you've been just as bad as the darkspawn, you'll be scouring the cooking pots for a week." Leliana warned, ruffling his disheveled blonde hair fondly.

Leymon cleared his throat, breaking the tender moment. "The horses are ready, sire."

Alistair gave an affirmative nod. "That was quick. Much appreciated, Leymon."

With care, he detached himself from his sons' handholds. He knelt down quickly to have a word with his own progeny in an uncommonly serious tone on his part. "Bryce. Donel. This is a word of warning. Now is the time to put all those fancy manners your mother taught you to good use. Your actions are a reflection of me. What does it say to our allies when they see us? We're a bunch of loudmouthed bullies? That's not the example I'd like to set. Not immediately, anyways."

For his small speech, he had two pairs of sad blue puppy-dog eyes aimed directly at him. Alistair gave a small sigh, pulling them both in each arm for a reassuring half-hug. "Just be more mindful, do you hear me?"

"Yes, father." Bryce answered immediately.

"Father." Donel chimed after, sniffling once.

"Good." Alistair released them from his hold, raising back up to his full height.

"Do we get a souvenir too?"

"Too?"

"We'll see. We'll see." She gave Aylin one last kiss on his dirty cheek before stepping away in the direction of the horses at the edge of the encampment.

Alistair motioned for his sons and Aylin towards the cooking fire. "Go get yourselves something to eat. I'll be back shortly."

As Alistair moved to catch up to Leliana, he heard Aylin shout goodbye to his mother again.

Leliana's eyes held a soft sheen of tears, blinking them away. She waved in return, but didn't dare to turn around. "It's not the first time, but it never gets any easier."

"Have no fear. I swear on everything I hold dear that he'll remain safe and healthy." Alistair swore this oath again, stopping in front of the steed prepared for his friend.

Leliana managed to find a smile for him, moving to grab the saddle cantle and pommel to hoist herself up into the stirrups. A small tug on her longish braid brought her attention back to Alistair.

"If there's any clue, even the smallest shred of evidence, to be found, spare no expense." His light-brown eyes reflected the steel resolve within, a rare sight to see it completely bare. He slipped a small satchel from his overcoat, sliding it into the palm of her hand.

She quickly slid the pouch into her robe and into a pocket within. With one, final tug, she slid naturally into the saddle, adjusting the reins.

"Mother!" Aylin dashed up, holding up a worn leather pack. "Don't forget your satchel!"

Alistair slid back into a warm smile, assisting in handing the pack to Leliana. "Good thinking, Aylin. Now go get something to eat and make sure my boys are too."

Aylin gave him a small salute. "Yes, sire." He tore off in compliance.

Leliana watched after him fondly briefly, turning her eyes back down to Alistair. "I must be off. If there's anything to be learned, I will find it without fail."

He gave her horse's neck a firm smack, stepping away as the small band of riders were off into the trees.

Alistair watched intently for a few minutes, letting the gentle wind sweep over him. He spoke under his breath, glancing up into the dying colors of the dusky sky. "May the Maker watch over you and have mercy on her cause."

***** On the Anderfel border *****

"If I never have to set foot in this frigid snowy hell again, I'll kiss the feet of a genlock." The man settled down into a shallow cave, trying to get a small fire going with what little he could scavenge.

Normally, he would not risk a fire.

Normally, he never came this close to freezing to death in his life.

As the small fire started to take hold, he carefully slid in a few dry branches he managed to find along the way. He rubbed his gloved hands together vigorously, holding them over the fire in warmth and shielding the embers from vagrant wisps of wind.

His eyes stared tiredly into the glow beneath his hands. How long had it been since that blunder in Weisshaupt? Two, three weeks? The passage of time was hard to keep track of while trying to remain out of sight.

Zevran tucked his cloak under himself, trying to find some measure of rest against the cold stone. He glanced over at the fur-covered bundle next to him, adjusting his hood as he assumed a huddled vigil over the small fire.

Those were her. So easily folded into fur and straps.

He frowned to himself, trying to shake off unnecessary regret. All that lay within now were bones and dried skin. She no longer lived in that remnant of the flesh.

He should've known that returning to the Crows would send him out on the next mostly-impossible contract only they could muster for one such as him.

_Let them try to quietly dispose of me. Their time will come and I will be there to reap the rewards of their fall._

He pushed one gloved hand into his side pouch, bringing forth the meager scraps of dry meat he had left. He slid two thin slices out, sliding them into his mouth quickly before returning the rest to their place.

_Just a little longer. Once past this snow, Orlais will beckon like the bejeweled whore I love._

Zevran swallowed down his small meal, drinking from his canteen full of partially-melted snow. It was enough comfort to make him to start feeling drowsy. His eyelids became heavier after each blink, staring down into flickering flames.

It wasn't long before his chin rested on his chest, his arms crossed tightly against his chest with his cloak mostly covering his form.

He never noticed as the dog entered into the cave, sitting back on its hindquarters next to the fire.

The dog decided it could wait a little longer.

*******

It felt like ages would pass in this barren landscape and they would still be no closer than before they started. Ayda stopped in mid-stride, taking a visual assessment of the flat brown that surrounded them in all directions. Only the sky above was a dull monotone grey, crowned by a huge dark shape that defied any sense of focus or clarity.

_Almost like the Maker Himself._

Wynne stopped a few paces ahead, turning around to catch sight of Ayda staring upwards. Her gaze followed. "That is the Black City. Now that we are in the Fade, it becomes the one constant as it can be seen if you ever look up."

"Almost like a guiding star." Ayda mentioned absently.

"Not quite. It tends to be in the same point, no matter where you might be in this plane." Wynne instructed with natural ease. "It's the sacred city that the Magisters corrupted with their avarice while becoming the first of the darkspawn taint. If I remember correctly, this city would be where our souls would return upon our deaths. According to The Chant, it was once called the Golden City. Perhaps one day, I would like to see it in its former grandeur. I believe I'm correct, but Leliana would be a better expert on Chantry scriptures."

Ayda took in the small lesson, her grip tightening on the staff resting back against her shoulder. "Wouldn't it be wise to purge the taint from this city before trying to comb the vast tunnels of the Deep Roads?"

The staff glowed faintly. **'No.'**

"No? That's a bit more vague than usual." Ayda pointed out, earning her a slight frown from Wynne in the process. Her old friend had told her to be more polite, considering she was conversing with Him. She felt it was best to remain herself, which also helped to cement her sense of self, resulting in fewer flashes.

There was no further elaboration to her question.

"Alright. You win." Ayda held her free hand up in mock surrender. "Are we any closer to where we need to be?"

The staff came to life for a brief moment, pointing to a direction that could be labeled as east. **'Almost.'**

"That's good to hear." Ayda started to move in towards the indicated direction, bringing the staff back to rest against her shoulder.

Wynne fell into a natural stride to Ayda's left, resuming their journey through this non-world.

"If our souls are meant to pass through the Golden City, where have they been going ever since the first Sin touched it?" Ayda wondered aloud, trying to keep the deafening silence at bay.

Wynne shrugged briefly. "For those who believe in the Maker, He collects those souls to him."

That realization almost hit Ayda hard, the longing to return to that everflow. While it saddened her that she could not remember it entirely, the feeling would never leave her. "What about those who don't believe?"

His soft voice intoned. **'Oblivion, created for those lost upon the first Sin.'**

"That doesn't seem quite fair for those who came after the Magisters' atrocities. Why punish those who were not a part of it?"

**'It is not a punishment. Only a result created by the initial corruption.'**

Ayda shook her head in disbelief. "Will those who've fallen into Oblivion be able to return if the City is restored?"

Again, silence became her answer.

"Alright. I will save this question for later. I hope there will be something closer to an answer next time." Ayda sighed under her breath. Instead, she decided to change the subject, glancing over to Wynne as they continued onwards. "I was looking forward to your stories of what happened after the Blight before I got sidetracked. Again."

Wynne inhaled deeply, her hands buried in the front pockets of her red enchanter's robes. "I suppose it would be easier to start with what happened first and work from there." She collected her thoughts before speaking once more. "After the explosion on the tower..."

Ayda clenched her teeth, placing her hand against her face. "Wynne... Stop..."

When Wynne touched her shoulder, Ayda felt a jolt take hold of her senses.

* * *

_The final assault waged on._

_The darkspawn hit them wave after wave, flooding from the broken makeshift barricades by the doors. They were met with Redcliffe steel, Elven arrows, Dwarven might and magical resistance of the Magi, keeping them at bay while assisting those making a stand against the Archdemon._

_At last, the price of blood and life had brought the Fiend to its final stand, struggling in the ruin of its corrupted body to lash at those trying bring its end._

_Wynne squinted as the dragon's roar washed over them, watching as the mighty beast fought to stay on its feet. Before she could muster the last of her strength to cast another spell, Leliana's arrow flew straight and true into the monster's eye._

_With one piercing cry, the Archdemon collapsed heavily against the stone roof. Those unfortunate to be too close to the edge were shaken off while most lost their balance, both darkspawn and ally alike._

_The moment had come._

_Wynne grabbed Leliana's hand offered in assistance, pulling herself from the rubble to glance over to both Alistair and Ayda doing the exact same._

**_The time has come. I must not falter here. _**

_Wynne approached the two Grey Wardens in a heated discussion. She didn't need to puzzle on what their rushed, heated words meant. She just needed to get closer..._

_Ayda turned her gaze over to her, their eyes locked. That same determination Wynne had seen that night hadn't faltered, only becoming stronger for the victory wrought here._

_"I will not let you..." As Alistair started to argue the point, it nearly broke Wynne's heart to see Ayda give her that small nod._

_In that fraction of a second, Wynne touched Alistair's armored shoulder, surrounding him in a force field that brought him down to his knees._

_She could feel the burning tears glide down her dry cheeks as she watched her friend launch herself for her fallen sword, charging forward towards the struggling beast._

_"Wynne! What are you...? Release me! NOW!" Alistair struggled frantically against her magic. With the last of his stamina, he was able to call on his Templar training, neutralizing the field around him and pushing the Enchanter off her feet all at once. He rushed forward, nearly tripping over the bulk of his own armor in the process._

_It was already too late. Their leader leapt onto the giant dragon's skull, utilizing all her remaining strength to plunge her sword through blood, muscle and bone._

_With a twist of the blade, it was done._

_Wynne struggled to her feet with the aid of her staff, watching as both Alistair and Leliana tried to reach Ayda. Neither would before the roaring light escaped from the dead Archdemon, enveloping Ayda as her hands held true to the sword planted in front of her._

_Wynne braced one hand over her eyes, watching as the light continued ever upward. Alistair still struggled against the outward pressure to reach Ayda. Leliana not far behind._

_The column of light pulsed, releasing a huge shockwave that brought everything to a standstill._

_As everything turned to white, it felt as if time had stopped altogether._

_It wasn't until she felt a hard shake on shoulders that she returned to the present._

_"Wynne!" Leliana managed to cough out, crouching over her as she shielded them both from the bits of falling debris._

_When Wynne tried to find her voice, she could only muster a hoarse croak. Her vision was blurred, blood from a head wound making things worse. The one thing she wished didn't work so well was her hearing, for she could hear the ragged anguish of Alistair's naked sorrow nearby. **The price I must pay...**_

_"Up..." She patted on Leliana's arm, struggling to get to her feet._

_Leliana gave her the boost she needed, placing her arm around her shoulder as they supported one another. They shuffled over to where Alistair knelt by tower's edge, cradling the body of his beloved Grey Warden._

_Leliana couldn't hold her tears back any longer, kneeling down next to Alistair with Wynne in tow. As the remaining soldiers started to approach, their time for personal mourning had to be delayed till a later time._

_Wordlessly, Alistair started to rise on his own volition, the streaks of dried tears could be seen down his ash-covered face. He carried Ayda's body with apparent care, her head resting against his breastplate. Her blood-matted blonde hair clung to her still face.  
_

_"Alistair. Wait." Leliana called after him. When he didn't stop in his slow pace towards the stairs, Leliana and Wynne both rose from where they knelt, supporting one another as they caught up to Alistair._

_They managed to stand in front of him, blocking him from proceeding down the stairs. It was only at that point that he stopped, his eyes cast downward._

**_I have to say something or this will only fester. Maker, grant me courage._**

_Wynne gulped, her dry throat finding no respite. "Alistair." She started, the pain of breathing only made trying to talk that much harder. "I made a promise. To her. And I kept it."_

_Leliana was at a loss for words, her eyes wide at the admission. "What...?"_

_It was the raw fury and depthless sorrow in Alistair's hard stare that would be burnt into Wynne's heart forever. "You... You dare..."_

_If Leliana hadn't been supporting her, Wynne might've dropped to her knees. She rested her weight against the bard's shoulder, drawing enough strength to keep her eyes focused on Warden before her._

_"I... promised." Wynne repeated herself, her words issuing forth slowly. "At Redcliffe. She asked. To protect you. To stop you. The promise gave her strength. To remain strong to the end." The tears fogged her vision once again, her shaky hand sliding into the inner pocket on her robes. The bundle of letters meant for Alistair were brought forth, smudged with the grim and blood from her fingertips. "She tried. Tried to give these to you that night."_

_Nothing changed in Alistair's demeanor. He didn't back away as Wynne placed the letters under Ayda's hand, pressing it back in place with care. "She wrote many. Unable to say what she wanted in one. Started another." She coughed into her hand, Leliana rubbed her hand over back to sooth the fit._

_"You've had your say. Now please, move out of my way." He managed a civil tone. They complied without hesitation._

_The back of the king in his dark-blue armor was the last thing Wynne could recall before she fainted from her wounds._

_

* * *

_

Ayda clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide from that last experience. The surprise was more that it wasn't her memory at all.

Wynne wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her the necessary support. "It had been a while since the last one."

"Th-that wasn't even my memory." Ayda breathed, her hand slipping away from her face. "Did you experience it too?"

Wynne shook her head, concern etched into her face. "I felt an odd sensation. Almost like someone tapping on my shoulder, yet noone is there when I look. What did you exactly see?"

"The moment before and after bringing the Archdemon down. It wasn't my perspective. It was yours." Ayda pulled away from Wynne's hand, leaning a bit on the staff as she continued walking forward.

"So you saw that, did you?" Wynne murmured, returning to walk by her side after a few paces.

Ayda gazed at the far-off horizon thoughtfully. "It was more than that. It was like I had stepped into your shoes completely. I heard your thoughts, felt what you did and everything in between."

"It's not unusual to see another's dreamscape, but it's much harder to become that person in another's mind." Wynne ruminated.

"I don't think I can find the right words to apologize for having to bear that." Ayda whispered, feeling a heavy pressure rest in the middle of her being. "Did he ever forgive you? Did he ever come to understand what I wrote in those letters?"

"More or less, he came around. He gave his true apology about three years later, if that's any indication. While I worked at his side as much I could from the start of his reign, it wasn't till that point where I saw the real Alistair again. As for the letters, I never read them. I never saw them again after I put them back in your hand." Wynne described slowly, reliving the memories of that time brought forth a wistful expression.

Ayda listened to her words, mulling them over in her mind. "Did he...?"

**'We are here.'** A soothing male voice breezed past them.

They stopped instantly at those words.

After a short survey of the scenery, Ayda started to speak. "Nothing is diff..."

The lifeless landscape started to waver in front of them. The overwhelming shimmer of light engulfed them, disappearing in a flash.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hahaha. I wasn't kidding when I said I liked build-up. I swear it's too easy to get off on tangents sometimes and realize I didn't even write the part I had planned. It's not a bad thing; definitely more for those interested to read. ;) Heck, I even have a small notebook going so I don't lose elements I wanted to add as the story progresses. This thing has truly become a beast in my head. I've been replaying the game as this character, trying to play with characters I never got the chance to. *coughzevrancough* Once again, thanks for the feedback! :D

* * *

***** Denerim *****

Oh, how she missed her blue satin heels!

It wasn't the time to be reveling in her favorite guilty pleasure. It simply couldn't be helped since she needed to be in more suitable attire to fit in with the underbelly that thrived in the backstreets of Denerim. Those old pleasures from her Orlesian heritage always came into full swing when she allowed herself to wear more than simple leathers and her Chantry garb. Ah, the ribbons, the silks and the myriad of colors.

Leliana stared idly at her distorted reflection of her wineglass, sitting at one of the cleaner tables in the back room of The Pearl. She had been in Denerim only two days, yet she had already gone through nine of her old contacts. There was little in the way of relative news. Nothing that really stood out beyond the usual political scandals and conspiracies.

She tapped one rounded fingernail on the side of her glass, absorbing tonight's variety of mercenaries, cloaked nobles and everything in between. Ranging from loud drunken singsongs to the hushed voices trying to avoid detection, her old skills came in handy when listening to the multiple conversations swirling about her. Tonight was no exception. There were many more sailors here this evening, evidence that a new ship must've docked that very day.

Maybe her luck was looking up. She certainly hoped so. As much as she enjoyed mingling and wearing blue silks, it brought her no closer to finding any leads to figure out who wanted the remains of her dear friend. Her grip tightened on her glass just at the mere thought of such desecration.

Leliana inhaled deeply, her nose wrinkling at some odd, misplaced odor. She needed to push the subject to the back of her mind and resume mingling with the this night's variety of fresh faces. Now wasn't the time to get hung up on her anger.

"By the Maker, it's been a long time since I saw you. Letting your hair grow long looks absolutely gorgeous." A smooth feminine voice drew her attention, glancing at a familiar face.

"Mind if I have a seat?"

Leliana nodded, gesturing politely to the wooden chair closest to Isabella. Time had been equally kind to the seafaring lady. With a deeper tan that hid her additional age well, Isabella didn't look that much different beyond a new overcoat and a short bob haircut.

"It has been too long, my friend." Leliana wore an honest smile. "It looks like your business is doing quite well for itself. If I had known your ship was coming back to dock, I would've sent a dinner invitation."

Isabella removed her coat, placing it on the back of her chair before taking a seat. "Don't start with the niceties, pet. I know you could talk yourself out of just about anything. Lets just drop the charades, order some drinks and see where the night takes us." She flagged down the passing barmaid, ordering a bottle of chilled red and a bowl of roasted nuts.

"You always take anything I say the wrong way. As much as I like new experiences, I'm not here for such festivities." Leliana spoke dismissively. "What has it been? Five years? The time certainly does fly when one is not looking."

Isabella arched a thin eyebrow. "True. It feels only like yesterday that I commandeered my first ship." She nodded politely as the wine bottle, glass and filled bowl were set on the table. "You are certainly dressed for entertainment. Have you taken up being a minstrel again? Did the Chantry life finally bore you to death?"

Leliana let an evident frown show on her painted lips. "To each her own, Isabella. I'm still quite happy contributing to the Chantry. It continues to fulfill something in me that I never knew was missing."

"Fascinating." Isabella spoke in bored fashion. "It's not every day that I see a priestess wearing such a tantalizingly low neckline is all." She filled her glass half-full. "Oh! How is your son? What was his name? Allan? Erlan?"

"Aylin. He just turned nine years old just a short while ago. He's gotten so big and he loves to read now more than ever." She sighed softly, wishing she could give him a hug right now, before he got to the age where hugging your mother was embarrassing. "I wouldn't be surprised if he grows taller than me in the next few years."

Isabella munched on a few morsels, washing it down with the remainder of wine in her glass. "Taller than you? Unless he's taking over your side of the family and not Zev's, perhaps he will." She snapped her fingers, refilling her glass all the while. "I saw that public menace about five months ago at that encrusted dock pub in Val Royeaux. Same old scalawag. He certainly knows how to make my nights interesting and that's saying a lot consideri..."

"Enough." Leliana tried to wave off the subject like the bad odor from before. "I really don't need details on what you did with him last."

Isabella smirked broadly, leaning back in her chair. "Did I touch a sore spot? Still pining over our delicious little elf? All we had was a little fun. Well, it was much _more_..." When she noticed that displeased scowl aimed in her direction, she let out a hearty laugh. "Fine. Fine. I'll keep all that merriment to myself."

Leliana shook her head, smoothing her loose long hair back over her shoulder. "I haven't seen him in ten years. Any mention of him doesn't strike anything soft in my heart." She paused, her eyes aglow with a renewed spark of interest. "Did he make any mention of where he was headed after Val Royeaux?"

"We don't discuss business when there's pleasure to be had, pet." Isabella shrugged. "If you wish to track him down, it's best to try Antiva first."

Leliana shook her head. "It's no big deal. Just an idle curiosity."

"That's what I'm afraid of. An idle minstrel is a dangerous thing indeed." She reflected. "I'll give you something to consider. You'll have to tell me if you heard this little rumor floating around. Apparently, there is talk of a new dragon cult on the rise, growing on the fringes of the Imperium. Some say it's secretly funded by an Antivan prince, Orlesian merchant, whoever. Others mention that they seek the rebirth of Andraste. I think it's a load of complete nonsense."

Leliana tapped her thumb against her chin. She had heard something about a dragon cult from a merchant so deep in his drink that he passed out five minutes later after imparting his tale in so many slurs. "Actually, that does interest me. Do you happen to know any more than that? Have they made any concentrated efforts anywhere?"

"Like I said, complete nonsense. That's all I heard the last time I docked in Orlais and I paid it very little mind." Isabella spun the wooden bowl with her index finger. "If there's not much mention of it here by now, I'd just count it amongst the many tall tales that travel from port to port."

Leliana thought back upon Haven, the hidden village that had served as a cover for the cult based around the high dragon. Their false Andraste. It was a shaky lead at best, more than anything she had gotten a hold of since traversing between the various social hotspots. _Spare no expense._

"Isabella? Do you have any work lined up after docking here in Denerim?" She asked intently.

The captain gave a half-hearted shrug. "Currently, I'm readying a couple small-time deliveries over to Orlais next. I'd prefer not to, but I owe a favor to Learis and he called due. Why do you ask? Have something in mind? Finally tired of Ferelden?"

"Actually, I think I do have something in mind." Leliana smiled delicately.

***** Anderfel Border *****

A violent lash of frigid air blasted Zevran from his brief half-sleep, his thick cloak doing little to shield him from the infectious chill set into the core of his being. Judging by the wind whistling along the cave's narrow entrance, the snowstorm was still well underway.

He glanced down at the fire again, checking to see how many twigs he had left. It was only at that moment he caught sight of the dog resting close by, head resting on its front paws near the warmth of the flames.

"Well, now. I wasn't expecting company. I'd much prefer a hot bath, a hot meal and a hotter piece of flesh against mine." He drifted off as that seemed a far-off life. "One can wish."

The dog raised its head, its luminous eyes reflecting the soft glow.

Zevran shook his head, trying to pull his cloak tighter than it already was. "I don't have anything to give, pup. You're welcome to share the fire." If the snowstorm didn't break soon, he'd likely have need of the dog. It wouldn't be the first time he had eaten dog meat. He had certainly eaten much worse in his youth.

"Please. You would not have a fire if I was not here."

Zevran narrowed his eyes over at the dog, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose and up to his temple. Great. Now the cold was going straight to his senses.

"You aren't hearing things."

He pursed his chapped lips, deciding it was best to simply ignore it altogether. Maybe the Veil was weak in this area and it was some demon trying to entice him. While that didn't sound like a bad idea, he wasn't exactly thrilled of the whole possession part of the deal.

"Fine. Be that way. I can wait."

Zevran covered his face with the scarf that had shifted down, squinting at the resting mutt to his right. He wasn't about to antagonize a talking dog.

"Whose remains are those, I wonder?"

The dog started to edged around the fire, moving towards the bundle sitting to his left. He brought the pack under his cloak with little effort, settling it on his lap. _The weight of the world rested on these shoulders once._

Zevran pressed his gloved fingers along the contours of the bundle. "Demon, I know your game. I have experienced it once before. You will not fool the likes of me."

He didn't like thinking back on that time he had accompanied Ayda into that forsaken tower by the lake, his first mission after pledging himself to her crusade. It was truly ironic that he had found himself on a torture rack within his Fade nightmare when he had initially convinced his prospective savior that torture scare tactics to ply information from him were unnecessary. He couldn't remember the exact words she had said when she had freed him from his own prison, however, he did recall the strong resolution in her intense gaze that brought him back to his senses. She saved him because she wanted to. She didn't have to at all. That meant more to him than he would ever let on.

"Yes, yes. Keep telling yourself that."

Zevran furrowed his brow, trying to muster his sleep-deprived senses. He knew that voice. "Just show yourself already. If you have a choice on what shape to take, I'd prefer a red-haired goddess with..."

With a sudden flash of light, he thought that perhaps his wish had been granted. As his eyes managed to refocus, he found out that his luck simply wasn't on his side today. "Well, I wasn't too far off thinking it was a demon."

"Charmed, Zevran." Morrigan wore a cheshire smile, sitting cross-legged by the fire. Her attire was made of newer grey pelts, adorned with fur lining along the high collar of her fully-buttoned coat. It almost didn't look like she had aged in the last ten years since she deserted, yet there were a couple of grey streaks along the bangs resting against her temples.

Zevran shook his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Doing a little sight-seeing in the Anderfels? I hear the giant bears are a marvel of the north. Of course, that might be a relative of yours. I apologize for my rudeness."

Morrigan observed him, her expression revealing nothing of her current mood. "It seems your abilities are losing their edge if this supposed half-bear can shadow your steps."

"I doubt it's by sheer coincidence that has you dogging my steps." Zevran paused abruptly, reflecting on delivering such a bad pun before continuing. "Say what you will. It appears I'm not the only one trying to seek out former compatriot."

She held her gloved hands over the fire, renewing it carefully with her own aptitude. "I know you always had an eye on her, even when she did not return it quite the way you wanted it. I am sure it would break her noble heart to see you have fallen back into the very element she helped you escape. How tragic."

"At least, my motives are quite clear." Zevran whispered softly, knowing better to rise to her bait. "Unlike some who had designs on creating some kind of god-child. I'm sure you only had her best interests in mind."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him, her agitation plain as day now. "Yes. Yes, I did. It would have saved her life." She turned her eyes on the fire, the ire evident. "Ah, if only she had been born a man instead, it would have been so easy to fulfill my plan. No. Ayda was a woman who had ensnared Alistair long before she even took notice, making him even more useless. To think I had to ask her permission to touch that Chantry rat and she _refused_..."

"Pardon my manners, it's been a while since I've had the pleasures of society, am I supposed to give a damn?" Zevran stated drolly, wondering in the back of his head if braving the snowstorm would be a better idea than staying here. "Excuse me if I don't shed a tear for your lost cause."

"I was not looking for your sympathy. However, I am interested in why you hold what is left of our dear Aydalis under your cloak as we speak. A bid for power within the Crows? Tell me. Maybe I am not the one who understands fully, how is this act of high theft is any different than what I was trying to achieve?"

Zevran didn't have an immediate answer. He wasn't used to defending his actions, especially not to someone like this Witch of the Wilds. "The difference is that I succeeded."

If the small cave didn't already feel cramped and above freezing, it certainly had become so as Morrigan did little to hide the anger seething from her. "Do you think I will let you leave here alive after that remark?"

"The truth stings, doesn't it?" Zevran dared a lopsided grin.

As Morrigan reached towards the seasoned assassin, a soft _tink _was heard ricocheting into the cave with a fresh gust of icy wind.

"Oh, Maker." Zevran invoked and cursed at the same time the nature of his ill luck.

Neither would escape the shock bomb that detonated within the small cave while an armed band of soldiers stood in the onslaught of the raging blizzard outside, their red armor shimmering in contrast to the white fall.

*******

Her eyes fluttered open, staring into the serene blue sky above. It would've been easy to close her eyes once more and enjoy the solace of this moment. Her fingers felt the thick grass underneath and her sense of smell could pick up the light smell of freshly-opened blossoms on the cool air.

"I can't say I would blame you if you wanted to rest here some more. This place is absolutely breathtaking."

Ayda tilted her head, catching sight of Wynne sitting a couple feet away, twirling a light yellow flower in between her fingertips.

The mage sighed softly, releasing the spinning flower to the mercy of the breeze. "It's hard to believe that this is the Fade."

Ayda glanced skyward once more, noticing the inverted aura of the Dark City by the artificial sun, looking more like a threatening rain cloud than a long, lost seat of power. Reluctantly, she sat up to notice the small clearing they sat with a couple of farmsteads in the visible distance.

"Ah, it's good you are both awake. I apologize if the transition was a bit rough." A soothing voice caught her ear, originating from somewhere behind her. As she was about to turn, she heard footsteps shuffling towards them.

Ayda recognized her face once she took a seat between her and Wynne. "Forgive me for not giving you a proper greeting the first time I met, your grace."

Andraste shook her head, her long silky brown braid resting over one shoulder. "Please, call me Andraste. There's little need for titles here. This place is one of my choosing, a gift from my good Husband. He took so much care to craft this from my memory that sometimes I feel this could've been a bigger part of my life once."

"It certainly is inviting. It does remind me of Highever to a degree." Ayda noted wistfully. "I've never seen such beauty within the Fade before."

A sad smile lingered on Andraste's lips. "While the Fade can be crafted into beautiful scenes such as this one, the denizens lack the imagination to do so. The first children can only collect fragments from dreams to mimic in efforts to create their own dream. Many only see the carnage wrought with their actions if they cross the Veil, creating the impression the world below is always made of these baser acts and emotions."

Wynne gazed off into the distance, listening. "A sad fate. Once, I would've thought it was blasphemous to think demons should be allowed to live, yet they are simply trying to only understand which they don't have. The same course of action we all go through in the span of our lives. It was a curious revelation from one of my old instructors, yet it changed my perception of the world and the Fade."

Ayda gave a mild shrug, her knowledge of the Fade was still nowhere near the years Wynne had on her. "Would it be impossible for the... first children to ever dream?"

"That's not quite so easy to answer, unfortunately." Andraste mused, resting her hands on her lap. "There is much that needs to be corrected and mended before a true answer could be given to your question. When the Tevinter magisters stepped beyond their bounds, their impure desires caused many fractures along this world and into world of man. So much has been torn asunder, even He almost didn't escape the aftermath."

"Is the Maker... damaged?" Ayda tried to find the right word.

Andraste tilted her head in consideration, trying to choose her words wisely. "Fragmented. Yes, that's the best way to describe his state of being."

"Is that why he mentioned something about being an avatar? How can this be possible?" The confusion marked Ayda's face. "How long have I been... deceased? Wynne told me that she only passed recently, yet that was ten years after the Blight. Has much more time has passed since then?"

"Only one year has passed since you were plucked from the fold." Andraste smoothed her idle hands over her simple blue dress. "I'm here to guide you onto the right path. Things have already been set into motion beyond the Veil. It has not gone unnoticed by those who've awaited the signs. It does, however, leave me little time to teach you how to navigate the Fade."

"Navigate? Where exactly am I supposed to go in this land of dreams and illusions?" Ayda made her thoughts known. "Even if I manage to pass through, what remains of... me will be little more than a husk. Wouldn't I return as an abomination or some other kind of undesirable creature?"

"Once you have the knowledge I impart, you will remain a bright light within this plane." Andraste informed. "I will warn... there are outside forces already on the move. While He was able to ward them off and keep you from being ripped from the Fade, this failure has only made them more driven and desperate. As to who or what is responsible, I'm unable to pinpoint one source. I fear there's more than one that will likely try again with larger support."

"So, I really don't have much choice in the matter?" Ayda sighed deeply, resting her elbows on her knees. "And I thought bringing a Blight to an end would earn me some rest. Well, what can you teach me? Can I learn protection from that icy grip I felt before He saved me?"

Andraste shook her head. "Not completely, I'm afraid." She moved to her feet, brushing her errant bangs from her green eyes. "Come. I want to impart what I can and we'll need the staff to expedite this process."

Both Ayda and Wynne rose, turning to follow Andraste to the small cottage that had been behind them. The white staff had been propped next to the door, awaiting them.

When they reached the stairs, Andraste held the staff with care over to Ayda. "First lesson is to learn how to manipulate the Fade around you. Since this staff is a part of your essence, this will make a good example." Once Ayda held the staff horizontally in both hands, the lesson continued. "Now imagine this in a different shape. A necklace. A bracelet. A small gem. Give it a try."

Ayda closed her eyes in concentration. Several attempts later, the staff still remained in hand. Her thoughts turned to the past, thinking on the silver sword of mercy necklace she had given Leliana as a birthday gift. In that moment, the staff changed. She opened her eyes, seeing the same exact necklace she just thought about with the iridescent gem set at the tip of the sword.

"Excellent." Andraste had touched Ayda's shoulder lightly the whole time, watching her progress from a distance. "Memories can be powerful tools within the Fade as you know quite well. You can use it as a guideline until you're more comfortable with independent manipulation."

Andraste took a step back, turning to open the cottage door, beckoning them to follow.

"Ahh. What a lovely smell." Wynne exclaimed in her usual calm tone.

The smell of flour and freshly-baked bread hit her nose as Ayda slipped the necklace on, running her fingers over the small sword. "You're right, Wynne. Now we just need a little cheese and an apple, that would be divine."

Andraste motioned over to the small table, near the hearth and the small kitchen. On the table, Ayda's wish was granted. "As you see, I created these from my memory, so these might taste differently from what you're used to." She gestured to the chair nearest to the fireplace. "Please sit here, Aydalis."

When they were all seated, Wynne ventured for an apple slice. Her eyes closed in quiet pleasure at her first bite. "Delicious."

"You're very correct, Wynne." Ayda took a slow bite out of a thick piece of wheat bread. "Your memories are very appetizing, Andraste."

Andraste chucked softly, tearing off a small piece of bread for herself. "Well said. We'll begin the second and third lesson after this small meal."

The meal was decidedly quick. The experience was more about enjoying the memory of having taste and flavor than gaining nourishment, it also brought comfort and ease of mind.

"Now, the second lesson involves manipulating your shape. You've had some experience with this from what I've seen of your memories." Andraste brushed off some loose crumbs from her hands. "Try something a bit easier; change your current clothing to something different."

Ayda glanced down, not bothering to question the drab grey robe she had been wearing the whole time. She arched an eyebrow at Wynne. "Any suggestions?"

"Perhaps a favorite outfit from your youth? Or perhaps something you always wanted to wear?" Wynne offered.

She closed her eyes again, thinking upon the dress her father had bought her to wear at the behest of her mother. A long-sleeved midnight-blue gown that accentuated the femininity that her armor clearly lacked. She couldn't help cracking a smile as she recalled the argument with her mother over parading her in front of Dairren against her consent. Her mother gave up in total exasperation. The look on her face was priceless.

"That's a very nice gown, Ayda." Wynne's voice broke though her reverie.

Ayda glanced down at her attire, smoothing her hand over each of the velvety sleeves. "Amazing. I never got a chance to wear this before Arl Howe's betrayal." She reflected softly, enjoying the detail of the silver embroidery along the bodice. "Unfortunately, this gown is a bit too low-cut for my tastes. What was mother thinking..."

"It's quite obvious she really wanted you to get that nobleman's eye on you, one way or another." Andraste chuckled behind her hand, enjoying the small bit of humor.

Ayda couldn't help giving into the chuckle. Despite her arguments, the dress never changed back into the grey robe. "So, what does the next lesson entail?"

"Touching another's dream." Andraste gestured with her hand towards the fire. "You won't be directly interacting with this dream. It's more like looking through a window."

"I'm sure it won't be too hard to figure out who you'll choose, Ayda." Wynne laughed mirthfully, enjoying another apple slice.

Ayda smirked over at her old friend. "How do you know I wasn't going to pick you?"

"Visit my dreams or those of your heart's desire? I'm pretty sure it's easy to see what you'll choose first. I don't blame you. I would probably dream of knitting blankets and mittens for the younger apprentices. Not very exciting, no." Wynne reflected.

Andraste smiled warmly, folding her hands on the table in front of her. "That should make it easy to focus. Both Wynne and I will watch over you, serving as an anchor so you don't get lost. If you're ready, stare deeply into the fire and recall."

Ayda inhaled deeply, receiving a nod of approval from both. Her light-brown eyes rested on the lazy sway of the flames within the hearth, letting herself become part of that motion.

*******

_It had to be one of the most pleasant days he'd ever experienced outdoors. The sky was clear, the air was clean and crisp and he had the best company in all of Thedas._

_Everything could wait till another day; he wanted to spend this time with his family. **My family.**_

_What better way to spend the day with his family then on the palace grounds? A picnic! How grand!  
_

_Alistair laughed from the bottom of his lungs, collapsing into the grass with Bryce and Donel in each arm. "I have been vanquished! These mighty knights have bested this evil dragon!" He played dead in the grass, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth while their small hands shook at his arms._

_"Nuh-uh. I don't wanna be a knight. I want to be a Grey Warden!" Bryce exclaimed._

_"Warden!" Donel cheered._

_Alistair cracked open one eye. "But what is this?!" He scooped the boys off their feet, carrying one under each arm. "The dragon lives again! Will there not be a kind soul to save these poor lads?" He directed his giant smile towards his lady wife under the tree, sitting on the large picnic blanket. She waved a hand, wearing a comfortable purple dress that made her look ravishing. Funny, was she smiling? He couldn't tell._

_"Oh no! Dragon spin attack!" Alistair shouted, receiving happy screams as he started to spin in place._

_"Spin faster!"_

_"Faster!"_

_Their combined laughter was sweet music to his ears, spinning as fast as he could manage with two growing boys in his hold. The world became turned into a green blur, becoming harder with each rotation to keep his balance._

**_Faster. Faster. I have to go faster!_**

_The scenery started to change around him, greens turning to browns, sky turning to fire. He tried to come to a stop. He couldn't. Something was holding him back._

**_Where are my children?_**

_His sons had been replaced by sword and shield in each respective hand. His comfortable clothing had been replaced by his old dark-blue armor. There was grime stuck to his skin; the sweat from the raging heat made his armor nigh unbearable._

**_Where has my perfect day gone?_**

_The Archdemon. Aydalis. The dragon lives again._

_"Alistair?"_

_The revolutions started to come to a stop. That scene started to be replaced with the smell of apples, the greens and the blues. The laughter started. His tawny-haired sons were beating on his sides._

_"Stop, dragon!"_

_"Dragon!"_

_Alistair crashed down into the lush grass, cushioning his sons from most of the drop. He breathed heavily, shutting his eyes as he let his senses catch up._

_"Uncle! Uncle!" He moaned under his breath. His sons burst out into cheer, jumping for joy as they waved their small wooden swords in victory._

_"For the Grey Wardens!"_

_"Wardens!"_

_Alistair rested against the cool grass, letting the solace wash over him. The wind felt good against his heated brow._

**_My perfect day, I knew you wouldn't let me down._**

_He felt a cool hand rest against his temples. The most pleasant sensation washed over him, one that he knew he hadn't felt in a long time._

_Alistair opened his eyes, tilting his head back to catch sight of his lady wife. The hand stayed on his brow, slowly moving to trail through his ruffled hair._

_His eyes locked with hers._

**_Not blue..._**

_The hand started to pull away, recoiling as if touching him was somehow wrong. Like a jolt of lightning, Alistair sat up, facing her._

_He was greeted by the most radiant, true smile, reaching deep down to fill some empty place he didn't know still existed. A smile only meant for Alistair. Not the King, Grey Warden or bastard child of Redcliffe._

_Her eyes were desperate, full of joy and sparkling. Her dress was a deep blue velvet with silver lining, different from anything he had ever seen her in._

**_Oh, cruel fate... Why do you do this to me?_**

_It felt so real as his eyes drank her in._

_Her hand started to move back towards him, palm outward. Her light-brown eyes had him ensnared._

_"Alis-"_

*******

Alistair's eyes snapped open, his gasp in the dark of night issued out much louder than he intended. He placed his hand against his sweat-beaded brow, breathing deeply to still the rapid beating of his heart in his chest.

He tossed the mangle of sheets and blankets off of himself, sitting up on the edge of his bed. The cold floor felt like absolute heaven on his addled senses.

_How had that felt so real? Her eyes... Oh, Maker, why?_

He closed his eyes, trying to will away the absolute visage of her.

_That brilliant smile. Those beautiful eyes. Her long blonde hair fully loose. That low-cut dres....  
_

As he pushed away from the bed, he sighed through his clenched teeth, his fingers running through his sleep-mangled hair in frustration. He needed to go for a long walk. In the cold.

"Wha... Are you alright, dear?" A sleep-heavy voice drifted from the huge bed.

Alistair stopped in mid-stride, every muscle going rigid in his body in the process. The moonlight drifting through the thinly-veiled windows gave away his position by the end of the bed, accentuating that all he wore were a pair of loose cotton pants.

"Everything's fine, milady." He managed to not sound _too_ high-pitched.

There was movement as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her features hidden in the shadow cast by the bed post. "Another nightmare?"

"Yes. You could say that. Definitely bad. You see, the darkspawn were trying to throw me a surprise birthday party..." He started to speak in a jovial tone, knowing full well it wouldn't fool her like it once did.

She sighed. "You're not being serious. That definitely means something is wrong." Her hands extended out to him, her fingers beckoning. "Come back to bed. I'll hold you and you can tell me what is troubling you."

Alistair knew there wasn't any escape now. A walk would've done more good in clearing his head. He honestly wasn't in the mood to listen to the little suggestions she liked to slip into anything whenever they had a conversation.

"Fine." He murmured, shuffling back to his side of the bed. Tossing his legs back up, he covered himself hastily with his mess of blankets. He lent back against the solid wood headboard, holding one arm open as Anora slipped over from her side of the bed to join him.

There was simply no words he could find that he wanted to say. Everything was still so fresh in his memory. All he had to do is close his eyes...

"Dear?" Her voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. "What's wrong?" Her fingers traced over the bare skin of his chest, doing little to help set his mind back on the straight and narrow.

"I'm fine. Perhaps it was something I ate at dinner tonight. You know that sauce doesn't sett..." He started to ramble, getting off topic quicker than usual. It was obvious that she wasn't fooled in the slightest.

"Was it that meeting you had with Leliana before supper?" She asked quietly, her loose blonde hair tickling the back of his arm as she moved herself closer against his side.

He hadn't forgotten. That matter was top priority to him above everything else. Not that he would tell his lady wife that. The less she knew, the better. That only made her ask more questions, much to his chagrin.

"She was surprised to see us back so soon from our southerly excursion. I told her there was little point to stay there with no fresh signs of darkspawn. She was so happy to see her son." He paused, his eyes trying to make out details of the room in the dark. "She gave me hell for the new bruises Aylin had. I can never win."

The true matter of their meeting was that she informed him of the rumors of a dragon cult uprising in the far north. She needed to head to Orlais to track down the root of these rumors, asking him to watch over her son again. He gave her his word again and an ample pouch of sovereigns for the trip ahead, it was the hardest thing to not get up from his desk and follow right behind like the good old days. When there was solid evidence in hand, he would make his move.

He felt a tug on his chin, turning his focus back onto Anora. "Sorry. My mind wanders."

"That it does, dear." She huffed softly. "I suppose that means Aylin will be distracting our boys from doing their studies?"

"If you let Aylin sit in on the tutoring, I'm sure Bryce and Donel will try to do the same. They try to emulate him in every way."

Anora shook her head. "That's what I'm afraid of. They've skipped out on many lessons on account of Aylin's increasingly frequent visits."

He gave her shoulder a small squeeze. "The kid is a quick learner. If he takes up his studies here all the time, everything should settle down. Happiness all around."

Anora fell into silence, her arm draped over his chest, her fingers playing idly with the leather necklace he wore. He had added Ayda's pendant to his own, the only true memento he had kept of hers before the Grey Wardens brought her to rest in Weisshaupt. A memento that noone would notice.

Alistair pulled his usual routine, deciding to pretend he had fallen back asleep. That was probably the biggest mistake he could make at that moment. Once he closed his eyes again, the remnants of the dream assaulted his senses again. It did little more than set his blood on fire again.

He opened his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep any time soon. He needed to go for a walk to shake off this unnecessary energy. Much to his surprise, Anora had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm.

Alistair pressed his lips against her forehead, trying to slowly disengage her from his person without waking her in the process. He almost managed to slide her arm back against her chest when her eyes caught his. The silence hung between them as neither backed down.

_Blue... Not light-brown... Maker's breath._

Instead of releasing her arm, he pulled her in close, pressing his lips full against hers. At first, there was slight resistance from the unexpected advance that melted away as he deepened the kiss, sliding his free hand along her cheek and into her hair at the nape of her neck.

He pressed her back against the bed, breaking the kiss. He waited for her eyes to flutter open, trying to burn those bright blue eyes into his mind as her hands invited him to go further.

Alistair needed to lose himself or he risked losing to that part of himself he had locked away.


	4. Chapter 4

***** Elsewhere... *****

_Ah, beautiful darkness. 'Tis embrace tranquil, 'tis touch soothing..._

His exhausted mind wandered aimlessly, giving him something to concentrate on in the low-lit gloom that had surrounded him for... for... It was hard for him to keep track. If he could count the scant amounts of food and water they allowed him, it had to be close to a few weeks in the very least.

The only companions he had for company were a rat missing half its tail and Morrigan. He wondered which made for better company. At least, Morrigan hadn't tried to steal his hard bread. Not that she could, due to being bound up completely on top of a neutralization glyph. The only dim light was emitted off that glyph, giving her an eerie glow as she hung low within her confides.

Zevran was luckier, only his arms and legs had been tied back severely. He could still speak and draw breath when his nose suffered another blow in another round of questioning. Morrigan didn't get that luxury, her face covered with a large leather mask. It made the one-sided conversations a bit more literal in that sense.

He couldn't tell how bad Morrigan had endured at these soldiers' hands. These men were quite skilled in interrogation, Zevran had to admit. He wondered if they were affiliated with the Crows in some shape or form. Many of their techniques were developed within the Crows and were a closely guarded secret as few would ever survive long enough to anyone else. He didn't recognize any familiar faces amongst these soldiers when he managed to get a half-second glimpse before they blindfolded him to lead him elsewhere in their current dungeon.

_Leaving my chances of surviving this escapade remarkably slimmer than usual._

Shifting his limbs as much as the chains would allow, Zevran tried to keep himself from becoming too stiff. The rattle of the chains helped gain Morrigan's attention, her head lulling up to gaze over in his direction.

"Good. You're still conscious, that's a definite plus." He tried to make conversation, more for his sake than hers likely.

The door opened with a loud whine, providing not nearly as much extra illumination that one would hope for. The guard clad red scale mail had brought them their second and final sip of water for the day. The helm obstructed any visible facial features, making it hard to try to form any sort of camaraderie.

The soldier dipped the wooden ladle into the bucket of water held at his side, holding it up to Zevran for him to consume. After three turns, he placed the ladle in the bucket, moving over to Morrigan. He touched the glyph by her, inspecting it carefully before daring to remove her gag.

Once removed, Morrigan coughed hoarsely, lurching forward with intensity. The man waited for her fit to stop, drawing the knife from his belt in absolute precaution. When she was able to suck in a few breathes without coughing, the ladle was offered to her without hesitation. It was clear the guard didn't want to be here any longer than necessary.

"Say, why don't you let this lady have five minutes to breath? The intoxicating air filled with the pungent scents of mold, rotting hay and... say, is that human waste?" Zevran tried to play it up, knowing full well this was likely to earn him a sharp kick in the gut. It gave him something to look forward to those lonely nights; just him and his many bruises to serenade him painfully.

The jailer did not make any indication of hearing his words, giving Morrigan the third ladle of water. Once she managed to only drink half of it while the remainder dribbled to the floor, she rested back against the stone wall. The glyph glowed with renewed light, allowing Zevran to watch as Morrigan shot daggers at their own personal waterboy.

"Five minutes." The guard spoke, his voice echoing from within his helmet.

Zevran blinked twice, unable to hide his surprise at the sudden gesture of good faith. The guard exited from the cell, the lock could be heard after closing the door. The shuffle of his heavy stride could be heard walking away from their door.

He didn't know what to make of this new situation. He did know he needed to find out how well Morrigan was holding up.

"Are you alright?" He spoke softly, not wanting to attract undue notice if any guards remained outside their cell.

Morrigan coughed shortly. "If you were strung up like I am, you would know I am definitely not feeling alright. I can manage if this is the worst they can inflict upon me."

"I have been strung up like that on a couple occasions. Those are stories for a different day, let me tell you!" He sighed at the sudden pang of nostalgia. "Have you answered any of their questions?"

"I can not answer what I do not know, yet they keep drilling me through the same questions every time they take me to that infernal room." Morrigan answered through a raspy voice.

Zevran lent back against the wall, his fingers never stopping from trying to find a way out of his shackles. "It mystifies me as to why they continue with these questions. They already took everything I had, told them my methods of infiltration and enlightened them that I only needed to deliver her remains to Haven. No one paid me to keep quiet about these things, you'd think they would pay the Crows more for silence. It doesn't cost that much more considering the rest paid for."

"Enough." Morrigan shifted against the leather and chains, trying to prop herself up against the cold, dank wall. "I have heard them speaking in quiet tones. It appears they are moving from this location, wherever we are now, to somewhere else. I believe I heard the word boat in there somewhere. Our time is short if we want to remain alive and somehow retrieve Aydalis' remains."

Zevran tried to laugh only to have it come out like muffled groan. "Easier said than done. I haven't had any luck with these. They must be dwarven-made; best cuffmakers in all of Thedas." He gulped loudly, trying to keep his throat from going dry. "I have no idea why they continue with these interrogations. Do they think I had time to have a Plan B? I could barely make it out alive and without my partner in crime. There was no time to take riches or mementos; her bones were all I was able to lift before the second wave of guards could arrive."

"Why tell me this? It will make little difference if I told them such..." Morrigan stopped mid-sentence as the door unlocked and swung open. Three guards in the same armor marched in to Morrigan. The first replaced her leather gag unceremoniously while the other two prepared to unlock her shackles.

_Her turn._ Zevran noted to himself, trying to commit it to the rest of his mental journal to keep some sense of time.

As the guards pulled Morrigan effortlessly from the cell, the light from the glyph snuffed out, leaving him in total pitch black once the door locked shut again.

In that cold dark, Zevran had to pride himself and silently thank his former tutors for teaching him to withstand pain and everything that came with being captured. It had taken every shred of those lessons to remain steadfast in this uncertain situation.

Nothing else mattered. His secret was safe. If it had to die with him, so be it.

***** Val Royeaux Harbor *****

She breathed deep of the briny sea air, exhaling while a slight smile curled on her painted lips. Thankfully, the ride on Isabella's fine sea vessel had been uneventful beyond the dinners she shared with the captain. Her old friend was still a riot to be around once the spirits got to her, making the nights more tolerable to deal with than sitting idly in the guest cabin.

Not that Isabella didn't try to entice her with her feminine wiles, it wasn't within Leliana's interests anymore. While those bygone days had been fun, she wasn't the trouble-free minstrel she had once been. Leliana had a lot to take care of more than ever and those sensual vices had become a fond, distant memory. Best they stay that way.

While she would've loved to dip her toes in Val Royeaux and its varied social gatherings, her affairs kept her at the docks. It was here that some of the best information could be traded and purchased. While it lacked the colors of the city further in, the people here were the true color. She knew she would find some kind of link leading to the recovery of Ayda's stolen remains in this old harbor.

Leliana glanced upward, making sure she had found the right tavern. How many years had it been since she came here? Eight? This trip, despite its importance, had been a trip down memory lane. Once she saw the familiar fish with an eyepatch on the faded wooden sign marked 'Gill's', she moved to press open the door, steeling herself for the usual stew of patrons.

The smoke, smell of heavy liquor and the smell of old sweat hit her senses, making her squint momentarily as she adjusted to the atmosphere. As she stepped into the drone of loud voices and drunken singing, Leliana hadn't forgotten where she needed to go to find the person she sought in this lovable hole in the wall.

It was a good thing Leliana had worn clothes tailored for the less reputable abilities of her life before the Chantry. A burgundy blouse with some room to move with a low neckline to still grab attention, tucked into a pair of faded black leather pants, comfortable and closer to dark grey in shade with a pair of old knee-high boots to match. Her garb gave her the ease of dodging incoming traffic and greedy hands, her hand comfortably resting against her belt where two knifes were sheathed at the small of her back. As she reached the bar, she managed to keep her coin purse and her dignity. _Oh! I still got it._

The bartender sidled up to her, expecting to hear a drink order. The rotund, bald man did a double-take, a smile presenting his variety of missing teeth. "Me eyes be deceivin' me. 'Twas thinkin' ya might be lost in mine bread an' butter, but lo an' behold, here stands lil chick! Ya have blossomed into ta a beautiful lady, ya have!"

"Old Gill, you haven't aged a day!" Leliana launched into friendly chatter, leaning against the bar edge. "I bet you still can't keep the ladies off you. I think the line outside stretched around the fish market and beyond." It was good to see his lovable face, big black mustache and all.

Old Gill waved his hand, taking the rag off his shoulder to swab the old wooden countertop in front of her. "Now ye be pullin' me leg, little chick. Me thinks ya aren't here ta see lil ol' me." He leaned in close, whispering. "Ya here fo' Jakanis?"

Leliana gave a quick nod of her head, leaning upwards. "I'll take a Flaming Templar for the road."

"Ya still kno' how ta drink, I'll give ya tha'!" Old Gill prepared the drink effortlessly, sliding the pint glass in her direction before slinking off into the backrooms.

She always wondered why the drink was called the Flaming Templar, it certainly wasn't on fire. Perhaps it felt like fire on an untrained throat, she gave that thought merit as she took a healthy gulp. Another minor part of her old training was being able to outlast targets to be able to finish the job once they passed out. The underlying woody flavor always warmed her spirits. _Wynne would've loved sampling this. Definitely for the flavor and a little humor at its title._

Leliana thought back on her old friend, wishing Wynne would've stayed longer in Denerim to have a few more drinks with her. She respected her endless dedication to both the Circle and Alistair, tirelessly working to improve matters and issues on both ends. It was a dear blessing that she would simply pass on to the Maker in her sleep, the Spirit's energy fading after ten years of holding on.

As she took a moment to thank the Maker in her heart, Old Gill shuffled back, tilting his head back to the backroom. "Ya free to see 'im now." He added with his usual toothy grin. "Good luck, lil chick. Don't be a stranga' now!"

She wore a smile filled with gratitude. "I'll try! I'll try!" With some careful maneuvering, she made it to the backroom with surprisingly little incident. With a nod from the tall man standing guard, she stepped into the elusive high-end gambling racket that the place was really known for. It was a meeting ground for high society and the underbelly to face-off and blow as many sovereigns as mortally possible. Back here, Jakanis was the unquestioned boss that most people knew better than tried to cross.

He was definitely the man that Leliana knew would have the answers. She only hoped that she had enough sovereigns to buy that information. His usual spot in the back with the red curtain drawn was dimly lit and the two men held guard close by meant he still lurked in that back corner.

Leliana approached that back corner, trying to avoid the gambling tables as much as possible. The two guards eyed her from head to toe, one holding a hand out for her weapons. With a quick unbuckle of her belt pouch, she slipped her sheathed weapons in the man's hand.

"That's all I have." She frowned as the man expected her to be more heavily-armed, lifting her arms so he could give her the necessary pat-down. At least, he was quite a gentleman, not lingering more than he honestly needed to. Once he gave the nod, the other parted the curtain for her.

"Keep an eye on my pouch, boys." She offered a small finger wave, stepping through to see the dimly-lit table covered in various scrolls, coin purses and scale with a dark-haired older man sitting behind it all, scrawling away at a piece of parchment with no reaction to her arrival.

"Sit." Jakanis' voice intoned deeply, his direct attention not leaving the work in front of him.

Leliana knew better than to question his word. Well, more than necessary. They had weathered many heated arguments during her training as a bard, yet he had never sent her away like he did with some of the students that were sent his way. He would always be one of her favorite teachers for his stern discipline and eye for detail, imparting that knowledge onto her when she had been ready.

Jakanis took his grey eyes off his work, placing the quill back in the inkwell. He wore a slim pair of reading glasses that perched on his long nose. "You certainly excited Old Gill something fierce, little chick. It has been quite some time since we last spoke. How are things working out with the Chantry? I trust Marjolaine didn't cause you too much trouble when she tracked you down?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle, sir." Leliana answered quickly, almost out of old force of habit. "While I would've preferred to not go through everything she put me through, it has put me on the path I am now and I wouldn't want to be any other place than I am now. So I'm grateful in a sense."

A slight grin appeared on his thin lips, stretching his back midway as he leaned against the cushioned booth. "That's what I wanted to hear. While Marjolaine never knew how to trust in any capacity, it does warm this black heart that you didn't forget how to show mercy." He took a quick sip from his cup of cold tea. "My ears have heard the reasons why one such as yourself would travel from Ferelden to these encrusted old docks. The answer isn't as simple with what few rumors have managed to spread."

"Am I even on the right track here? Time is of the essence in this matter, as I'm sure you well know, sir." Leliana wrung her hands in her lap nerviously, almost feeling like a small slip of a girl again in his presence. "She was a dear friend and paid the price for stopping the last Blight. She deserved to rest in peace and did for almost eleven years until this act of desecration has ripped her from it. Maker knows for what ill purpose..."

Jakanis listened quietly, his sharp eyes flickering over the supplies strewn about his table. "While many little tidbits eventually reach my ear, I can't answer upon who has taken your friend. I have heard of many different factions flocking to that region within the year. I'm sure the first you suspect is the Antivan Crows. Your guess is not too far off."

Leliana bit on her lower lip, stalling herself from blurting out any hasty emotions that wished to break free. "Is there any further information what their objective was?"

"Your good friend, Zevran, seemed to be on a mission in the Anderfels. What I can't truly pinpoint if the Weisshaupt incident was for that very mission or another matter entirely. I was lucky to scrape that much information without someone affiliated coming in here and trying to 'have a word' about it with me. Smart fools."

She turned her eyes downward, trying to will back the anger and disappointment that threatened to overpower her better judgment. "What is known for certain?"

"The only certainty is that your friend is in someone's hands right now." Jakanis tapped his fingers together on top of his papers. "The Crows are the most likely suspects. However, there are reports of a new dragon cult restructuring that has an uncanny habit of staying just out of public notice when it's becoming a bigger threat with each passing day."

"Isabella told me of old rumors, though she dismissed them as folly." She informed, her voice remaining neutral despite how she felt. "If from what you've said is true, how are they able to keep this from spreading into daily rumor?"

Jakanis kept his cool stare levelled at her. "They have been quite efficient on tracking down those people who talk about the matter and those people are never seen again. It's also mixed with the rumor of people disappearing in general within the last two years, especially in Orlais and the Imperium, I know for sure. It keeps attention off the true matter: this unified cult is gaining new members to fuel its growth. I suspect that those who have gone missing have become a part of that force somehow. I have no absolute proof, but it's not the unskilled and poor that have gone missing. It's a soldier here, an archer there and perhaps a templar somewhere in the middle. These are trained men and women that are a part of the working society, yet very little word of these missing people are on the minds of the general masses. There must be people smoothing these matters on many levels, meaning that it's high-reaching and likely more widespread than I could've originally anticipated."

Leliana took his information with every detail, only adding on the sense of dread building in her heart. "Does this cult bear a name?"

"They do... Ah! I have heard the name: Blood of Andraste. It has come up more than once. That is all that I truly know. If they have their hands within the right channels, they are moving through several different people and not spreading their name. For a rising cult, this is a peculiar tactic when one would think they would want to spread word of their cause and intentions. I can only make presumptions about their plans, but if it requires this much silence, it's likely something they are close to accomplishing."

She didn't hide the distraught from her face, unable to wrap her head around everything at once. "This situation goes much deeper than I could've fathomed. And you think that the heist upon Weisshaupt is tied into all of this?"

"It's wise to never rule anything out until every side is known. If I had to go with gut instinct on this, as Old Gill would say to do, that assault on the Grey Warden tombs is a vital part in this secret agenda. Beyond that, there is little real evidence to go by. I apologize that I could only offer more questions instead of answers." Jakanis offered a rare apology, usually never in a position where he didn't have a definitive answer.

Leliana sat in silence for a good while, weighing her options. Jakanis adjusted his spectacles, returning to the light scrawling against a new parchment. The quiet was disturbed when he placed a small purse on the scale, jingling softly.

"Master Jakanis, would I be able to procure your services in getting a message sent from here with the utmost urgency?" She asked in a firm tone, her eyes set with the task before her.

Jakanis raised his eyebrows, turning his enigmatic attention back to her. "Procure? As much as I'd like to assist a former student, the coin needed for such a task is not light. Many hands have to be paid and repaid to have a message become nigh invisible."

"Could I request that your men return with my pack? I wish to negotiate a deal." She inquired.

Janakis gave a snap of his thin fingers. "Bring her pack to me, please." A guard stepped through, holding out the leather belt lined with pouches and weapons to the man in charge.

"I believe I can afford such a service, sir." Leliana gestured to the leftmost pocket, conveniently the one bulging more than the others. "I was told to spare no expense and this matter is one of those situations."

Jakanis let a slight smile slid onto his features, handing the belt back to his former student. It took her only a moment to pop open the sidepocket, letting the heavy purse fall into her hand.

"Now, I need to send a message."

*******

Everything lurched against the very fabric of her sense of self. The most she could do was imagine herself curling into a fetal position, trying to weather this feeling of being dragged downward and sideways at the same time. She should try to break away. She had tried. The fire never returned and now the black gripped her. It wasn't the same cold grip that had purged her from the fold, it was the very touch of the Fade unformed, untouched and nothing.

Ayda tried to close herself off from it, unable to regain any balance in this freefall. Perhaps if she had been a mage in life instead of a soldier, she would've better prepared for this kind of situation. She was also thankful she had never been a mage, despite the enlightenment of Wynne's experiences had changed her perspective. Still, she wouldn't give up her family for anything and felt sorry for those gifted with such magic of being torn away and stuck in a tower.

_Try to focus. Try to focus._

It was when she tried to converge her thoughts into a single point that she realized she held something warm protectively to her chest. That sensation brought everything to a standstill, feeling the soft glow of firelight against her closed eyelids.

Ayda dared to crack open her eyes, finding herself within a cramped tent with only the campfire outside providing any light in the distance. Once she had a moment to collect herself, it came to her like a soft whisper. This was her tent back when their party camped out in the wilderness constantly. How could she ever forget after it became a second home after her family fell to Arl Howe? It wasn't much, but it wouldn't be taken away so easy from her as many things had in that short span of time. A place of comfort and relative safety.

_Home._

Her hands still held tight to the source of her recollection. With delicate care, she eased her fingers into a cupped position, catching sight of what she had been holding onto in that fathomless drop.

A single rose. A little worn around the edges, only starting to bloom. The flower Alistair had given her one random night by the campfire. The act of kindness had caught her off-guard.

Even after the events since Ostagar, the wound of her family's loss still struck deep, much more than she had ever let on. Everyone looked to her as the leader when it really wasn't her place to be one. She wasn't the most experienced nor the most capable, yet only Sten had ever challenged her leadership. Whatever answer she had found for him, there came a newfound respect in his stoic scrutiny. Maybe others saw in her something she didn't see herself.

Then, there was Alistair and the lightly bruised rose. His delivery had started so well, keeping eye contact and not completely dissolving into the joking side of his nature. By the end, it had surprised her to see him so bashful to the point he took first watch which he never volunteered for willingly. In hindsight, his cloistered life in the Chantry shaped him to that point. To see the blush infect his cheeks was a priceless treasure she carried along with the rose.

"Are you awake?" A familiar voice brought her back from her thoughts.

As the entrance flap was pushed aside, the faint scent of fresh soap caught her attention, her eyes wanting to believe in who knelt in front of her. _Alistair._

His warm, crooked smile. Those light-brown eyes, dancing with his usual mirth. The naked adoration plain for her to bask in these rare private moments. It would be so easy to smooth her hand along his stubbled cheek. To return her affection with a fond kiss. To bring him into the shelter of her arms...

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Alistair glanced left and right dramatically, perched at the opening of her tent in his usual green tunic, leather leggings and boots. His short hair combed back from a recent bathing, explaining the pleasant scent.

Ayda shook her head slowly, lowering the little rose to her side to rest on her folded blanket. "Just a bit surprised is all. Is there something I can do for you?" She asked in an official tone.

"Oh. Fine. Be that way. I thought you just might like the last slice of sweet cake I've seen you eyeing voraciously across the campfire." He mused, his hand bouncing a small wrapped bundle that had to be the cake mentioned.

Her brows shot up in challenge. "What? I was not! How could I not notice when half of the cake seemed stuck in crumb-form all around your lower face?"

"So you admit to blatantly ogling my handsome face instead of this delicious cake?" He baited, his sly smile and arched right eyebrow were charming in his unspoken triumph.

Ayda gaped for lack of a better answer then promptly closed her mouth. She huffed in mock indignation, crossing her arms as she veered her eyes to the left. The soft velvet under her fingertips... When had she put this on? She didn't own anything this nice anymore. Not since home.

Alistair chuckled heartily, placing the small gift of cake in front of her in offering. "Have mercy on this poor soul of a man. Please accept this humble gift in repentance of offending her ladyship."

"You're laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?" She slid her fingers through her loose hair, moving her long bangs from her eyes. It felt odd. When did she have time to wear her hair down like this?

"Me? Laying it on thick? How could you think such a thing?" Alistair decided to move in closer, letting the flap fall back into place behind him.

The light tapered off to a warm glow, bringing out the color in his eyes. Ayda stared boldly despite herself, mesmerized. In one swift motion, he gathered her into his arms, his hands cupping her lower back gently.

In natural response, her arms slid around his neck, pulling herself closer into his embrace. She pressed her face into the crook of his bare neck, letting the warmth and the musky scent of his clean skin overwhelm her senses. It felt good to be there.

Everything felt right. Yet it shouldn't. Something was off. He had never dared to venture into her tent uninvited, not once. There hadn't been a lot of time for them to truly explore their feelings, never feeling this at ease in each other's presence when alone. There had always been some imminent doom that always had a way of spoiling the mood. There should be the threat of darkspawn or the approach of the Blight, yet she felt no sense of urgency here.

Against her own desire, Ayda slid away from that comforting envelopment, placing the palm of her hands against his broad shoulders. "No."

Alistair rested his forehead against hers, pressing against her hands with unspoken insistence. "Yes." The hands on her back didn't slide away, his eyes catching hers one more. Again, she felt the sway of her hesitance try to buckle.

"I said no." Ayda managed to find the will to resist. "This isn't real." With another try, she started push Alistair away from her with more strength.

"What is wrong? Isn't this where you want to be?" His voice felt forbidding despite the smooth intonation.

She managed a weak smile. "Being in his arms would be my second heaven. You aren't Alistair, whoever you might be."

His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. The fingers in Ayda's back started to dig into her flesh, his gentle smile turned into a cold, maniacal visage of what it had just been. "Interesting. Not a spirit or demon. Not a mortal. Oh, this will be fun. So very much fun."

"Get away from me." Ayda flinched as the nails started to draw blood. Gathering her strength, she shoved this fake man away from her, bringing up her feet to put more force into the second attempt. Her skin ripped as the nails were pulled away, feeling the warmth of her blood trickling from the crescent-shaped wounds.

The fake Alistair laughed raucously, flying back against the tent flap. "So that's how you want to play it, little one? So be it." The man licked the blood from one hand, snapping his fingers on his other blood-stained hand in unison.

Everything started to change. The tent gave way to stone walls. The flames of the campfire crawled along the broken wreckage lining the narrow walkway, the body of dead soldiers and familiar faces alike. The man that had been Alistair shifted right in front of her, taking the bloodied face of her brother, Fergus.

"My family! My wife and son died because of you! Everything came to ruin when that Grey Warden came looking to recruit! Oh no, not Ser Gilmore - you!" Her brother screamed at her, kicking a dead elf maid in the side.

The word flew directly at Ayda, trying to pierce her heart that had already come to terms with this massive loss in her previous life. Her family had been in the fold, happy, content. "Yes, I failed them, yet they saved me in return. If my brother had been there, he would've been lost as well. It's a small blessing that he might still be alive. Do you think you can break me with this?"

"Oh! Surely not. This is only a small appetizer. I'll savor the depths of your memories; one layer at a time." Fergus cackled as he snapped his fingers, his voice changing to a different pitch as everything lurched once again.

The world shifted. The fire and stone blurred to swampish greens and browns. They stood before the ramshackle hut within the Korcari Wilds. The stagnant stench of the bog did only reminded her of that one time after the fall of Ostagar. The besieged tower, the beacon, the onslaught...

Ayda gathered her senses, focusing on the shorter, older woman that now stood in front of her patiently.

"Ah, look. Another Grey Warden, up and about, safe and sound." Flemeth spoke nonchalantly, her hands held together in front of her loosely.

Her eyes roved from the old witch to the armored back of Alistair, staring out over the surrounding marshes. He turned upon hearing Flemeth quickly, his weary eyes sparking as they caught a glimpse of his fellow compatriot. She remembered that sudden transformation over his features; he had looked so utterly lost for a split second until he knew she was brought back from the brink.

"Why are we here, spirit?" She didn't want to tread through her memories. Whatever creature this was, she was at its mercy. _So much for being anchored. Something must've gone wrong. Perhaps when I fell into that dream..._

"That's not how you should speak to the one who pulled you both from that stone tower." Flemeth warned in a lilting rasp. "The question you should ask yourself: why did you fail?"

Ayda crossed her arms out of habit, watching the old woman intently. "We didn't fail here. We scaled the compromised tower. We lit that beacon. Where the rest of the Teyrn's forces went to after that is beyond our control."

She figured it might be best to play along to a point. Fighting it head-on would be pointless, learned from prior experience.

"You did fail. The beacon was not lit in time to save the king and your Grey Warden leader fighting in the ranks below. Perhaps this Loghain saw the futility into joining the battle at that point."

Alistair's shoulders visibly slumped at the crone's insight, taking in her words as if they were absolute truth.

"I can see your point, spirit. The tower had been overrun with darkspawn, the ascent had been slowed to clear a path up to the pyre at the top, awaiting us." Ayda managed a half-shrug, not letting her gaze move from Flemeth, not daring to succumb to the fake Alistair's despair.

Flemeth wore a faint smirk. "So be it, little one. You turn a blind eye to your failings, it's best not make a habit of it. Or is it best?" She snapped her bony fingers once. The transition started once more.

The insidious swamp changed to a torch-lit murk, surrounded by cold stone, iron shackles and wooden torture devices of a few varying kinds. Ayda remembered this depraved place more than she cared to; the dungeons of Arl Howe within his new estate in Denerim.

"You... You didn't deserve the rank and honor over one such as... me." The voice labored from the floor. Arl Howe held his abdomen, holding in his innards from spilling from the long slash that had brought him down. His fevered eyes full of rage and bitter resentment, blood trickling down from the sides of his mouth.

Ayda shook her head, keeping an even stare with the man who destroyed her very foundation. She should be enraged at reliving this memory. Much to her chagrin, it only filled her with an odd numbness. "Does that matter now, after you've purged the Couslands from Highever? Does it matter now that your life is spilling over the floor as we speak?"

"How dare you...?" Howe spat at her feet. "I deserved more!"

She inhaled deeply, regretting it instantly as the stench of entails made her feel unsteady. "I have nothing more to give. My revenge was struck when my blade pierced through your armor and cut through your midsection. My family can find solace that you got what you ultimately deserved after your betrayal."

"Betrayal... Remember that word and keep it close." Howe slumped to the floor, his eyes staring steadily off to his right. In a faint gesture, the weak snap was heard against the ruined leather and his mortal wound.

As the scene changed, color returned in warm shades of gold, red and wood. Voices murmured all around, above and behind. The throne sat empty in the distance, the body of Loghain covered with his very own cloak. Anora and Alistair stood to her right, Riordan and Eamon to her left. The Landsmeet had come down to her recommendation.

"Who will lead Ferelden?"

Ayda watched all the people staring at her, watching them in return. Her focus returned to the people awaiting her answer. So much had ridden on her very shoulders at that moment. Was it time to be truly selfish? How could she be an unbiased mediator when her relations with Alistair were in plain as day? She already knew; she had already made this decision.

"Alistair will be king, and I'll rule beside him." The words were spoken once more.

Alistair blinked twice upon hearing those words, the panic shivering through his being seemed to dissipate. The confidence that lurked behind the sheep's facade started to peek out. "Really? You will?"

The voices of Arl Eamon and Alistair faded to mute, Anora staring her down with cold daggers in her eyes.

"How could you not support me? I've supported Ferelden with every fiber of my being these five years and this is what I get? Tossed aside? Locked in a tower? How is this acceptable?"  
Her voice grew in volume, her vehemence bared.

Ayda watched the hazy form of Alistair. He continued to speak with Eamon, oblivious to the words of the former queen standing right next to him. "He was ready, even if he didn't believe it himself. I saw the strength, courage and ability to be a leader hidden behind his jests and quips. How could I not? He should've been leader of our group, yet he conceded that role to me. That only served to drive me to find the answer to the question: why?"

"Why?" Anora arched an eyebrow, her delicate hands held politely in front of her. "Why, you ask? Did you try to hand the reins back to him or did you greedily keep them for yourself?"

She remembered that she had tried a couple times at the beginning to hand the role of leader back to him, but she never pushed the subject very far after his initial resistance. It felt almost natural for her to be in the lead. Her upbringing had always forced her in some way to take charge that she didn't really give this line of reasoning much thought till now. "Yes. It's wise to think that I greedily kept it to myself. Leadership was something that had always been expected of me. When it was passed onto me, it simply fit like a comfortable pair of gloves. In the end, I didn't force him to be a leader, yet he could see the kind of leader I was and could learn from that." She wore a faint smile, adding after a short pause. "Ha. Easy answer and right in front of me, too."

"How do you know you were a good leader?" Anora stepped away from the group, kneeling down beside the covered body of her father. "Was it a good decision to let Alistair slay my father without any choice in the matter?"

Ayda glanced down at Loghain's fallen sword, noticing the dried blood encrusted to the blade. "This is what Alistair knew he would have to face if he wanted his vengeance for Ostagar. For Duncan. It was not my decision to make." She paused, considering her next words thoughtfully. "As for my leadership, I did what I thought was right. We saved the Circle, freed the werewolves from their curse, earned the throne for Harrowmont, freed the Alienage from Tevinter slavers and kept Redcliffe from complete ruin when Eamon was poisoned. If any member wanted to speak up about my given word, I gave them my full attention. The only thing I can't answer is how those actions affected the future. It seemed positive from what little Wynne could tell me."

"You have such perfect answers. Always perfection. Never a strand out of place." Anora smoothed a hand over the cloak slowly, a gesture oddly similar to petting. "Would you have been the same if things had been different?"

"Different?" Ayda started to ask before the Landsmeet vanished, the clicking sound of the snap resounded around her. All the warmth of color drained into the raging fire and ash started to come before her eyes. The ground littered with the many bodies of those fallen strewn in every haphazard pose possible, the sky hidden under the darkened clouds riding ahead of a Blight. Now she stood on the roof of Fort Drakon, the place of her final stand.

The Archdemon's massive form rested after its initial collapse from the direct onslaught of the combined Ferelden forces, the darkspawn still swarmed around it in vain to protect while their allies still pressed forth. Now, Ayda stood by the blurred forms of Leliana, Wynne and Alistair. They were picking themselves out of the rubble, their attention focusing on the corrupted dragon before them.

"So, you were truly the light that brightened our sky that night. Its brilliance was different from the four I had seen before. It had felt like..." The figure facing the Archdemon, sword in hand seemed at a loss for words, unable to truly describe something foreign to one such as it.

Ayda stared at the back of the form the denizen of the Fade had taken: herself. Clad in her bloodstained armor and without her battered helmet on, it would've been hard to tell them apart appearance-wise. It was disconcerting that her form had been borrowed, yet felt little surprise at all. "Light? Ah, when I dealt the final blow..."

The doppelganger turned to face the original, her eyes starting to glow purple instead of light-brown. "Now that the layers have been peeled away, how could you not choose to take Morrigan's option? You didn't need to die. To lose the ability to dream. To experience. To live." The voice held an odd tinge of melancholy and curiosity.

"You've seen my memories. What can I say that my actions didn't?" Ayda moved to stand next to her shadow, watching the war of expression cross its face.

Her other self stabbed the sword down into the stone, seeming bored with having fun and merriment in Ayda's dreams for the time being. "Your actions are logical. Duty and honor, fulfilled. Your king was saved and Thedas was freed of the Blight until the next. Does all this selflessness make you different? Does refusing the way out make all the difference?" Its tone seemed confused, desperately searching for an answer.

"I can't say. I only did what I thought was right. The third option would only avert one disaster to likely open the doors wide open for another. The birth of an Old God in the hands of someone who joined with dubious intentions from the start? That was something I couldn't allow, no matter what I could've had..." Ayda's voice trailed off. She didn't want to question her decisions, especially not with an equally dubious spirit.

Her mirror image smirked. "Ha! So you are not quite so flawless. So noble yet you stumble across the Fade with all the majesty of a person walking backwards. One moment, you're looking through a dream and the next you've invaded it with so little grace. So easy to pluck you out."

Ayda tried to suppress her anger to little avail. "What? Was it your doing that I entered into his dream?"

The mimic started to cackle again, tossing its head back in uproar. "Blunder here. Blunder there. You tripped right in without a care. Watching you has been quite entertaining. From your rise above the City down to the interesting group of maleficar ripping you from the orchard."

That cold, sinking feeling returned. She had wondered why being near this ever-shifting spirit held a touch of familiarity. "You had a hand in that? It was you, wasn't it?"

Her other self arched an eyebrow, wearing a deranged smile. "A hand. A foot. A head. A part of me was in that glorious attempt at reaching for the heavens." Its hand reached up high towards the Black City above them. "A brilliant failure. I thought you had been lost after your descent, yet here I find you poking holes in dreams of the living. Shame on you!"

Ayda stepped in front of her former visage, facing the spirit eye-to-eye. "Why? Who would even want to rip me of all people from the fold? How were they even able to?" Despite her inner discipline, her heated emotions were as clear as day.

"Who? You have quite a number of mortals and spirits interested in you alike. All I did was act as one gateway of many." The spirit snapped its fingers, the scenery changing quickly to that of a dimly-lit room. Along the floor were many magical circles within each other, painted in blood with six red-hooded maleficar standing evenly around, their voices in harmony in their invocation.

Ayda found herself standing off to the side of the crammed stone room. From the creeping chill, it was likely an underground cellar. "Is this where I was being summoned?"

"Oh no, no, no! This was merely one circle of many connected at that precise moment. My expertise had been utilized by these foolish maleficar. They had the gall to think they would get their wish granted without giving so much as a sacrifice in return." Her shadow self waved a hand, causing the magi to crumble onto the circle lifelessly. "Much better."

Ayda stared at the fallen beings on the cold floor, their bodies having fallen perfectly in a circle against each other around their prior blood-forged circle. Their blood flowed into the middle, pooling in the center. "Who were these people?"

"Names, names. Their names are not important, yet only one name was held constant in every single of the blood rituals: Blood of Andraste." The being, still content to use Ayda's armored form, shrugged with little care, tossing out the tidbit of information without a shred of concern.

As Ayda tried to form questions in her mind to ask this nebulous being, she felt a warm touch on her shoulders. "Wait! I have questions I need to ask!"

"Ah. It seems you've been found. Pity." The apparition glanced back at her, noticing the glowing rift formed directly behind Ayda. "Tell your benefactors that I send my greetings and be a tad more mindful how you touch your little kingling's mindscape."

Ayda pursed her lips pensively. "Leave Alistair out of this. If you want to stalk me through the Fade, be my guest. Just leave him and everyone else out of this."

"The rest aren't my concern. For all your blundering, no one can touch the kingling's dreamscape now due to your intervention." The spirit pointed a lazy finger at her, lowering it to indicate Ayda's hand.

Upon looking at her hand, the rose had returned to her. She knew she had placed it down, yet here it was. She wasn't sure if this volatile being was telling the truth. When she held the flower close to her heart, Ayda knew that she held something quite precious. "I suppose I should thank you." She paused, clearly lacking a name. "Do you have a name you go by?"

In that moment, the portal grew stronger, starting to pull Ayda within with greater force. The being that continued to wear Ayda's face tilted its head, offering a small finger wave as the light grew brighter.

"It matters little. We are connected. We will meet again."

***** Denerim *****

He didn't know what was worse: waiting every waking minute for some kind of news or trying to avoid Anora's endless questioning about his apparent antsy nature. Maker forbid, he get a quiet moment to himself. He had to admit; quiet right now would be bad. Quite bad.

Alistair had found diving into the issues of his kingdom to help take his mind away from his own personal affairs. It wasn't a new development for him to be this dedicated; it was the same tactic that he had used after the Blight and his first years as king. However, in time, he had become quite proficient in wielding his influence with thanks to both Eamon's and Anora's tutelage.

His days were quite filled with all kind of matters, never giving him much more than a few minutes hear and there of any kind of personal time. He had to admit; he kind of liked it that way. The evenings would be spent with visiting dignitaries or with his family in supper and time to play or read his sons a story before their bedtime. It was the late evening he had come to dread these past few weeks. The castle fell into its own slumber in these later hours, everything coming to a standstill until the next dawn.

Alistair tapped his fingers on his armrest, staring blankly at the neatly-stacked pile of papers set before him. There was always work to be done, he never had to worry in that respect. At this time of night, he simply didn't feel like handling these matters. _Not right now. Maybe later. It's later now, isn't it? Even time never cuts me a break._

Exhaling in a soft sigh, he stood out of his comfortable wooden chair, moving around his desk to reach the veiled window. Pushing aside the thick curtain, he took in the dark night sky and the tiny lights scattered in what he could see of Denerim from this angle. The fresh air helped calm him to an extent. He had never felt as caged in his position as he did now. The most he could truly do without attracting attention to his actions was keeping that news from spreading into the public rumor mill. He had some of his most trusted men keeping an ear open in every tavern, brothel and hole in the wall to make sure it stayed that way.

Releasing the burgundy curtain, his gaze caught on his sword and shield mounted behind his desk for show and convenience. _It might be good to go waggle my sword around in a kingly fashion. I'll win against those practice dummies yet. Time to taste my justice, Ser Straw._

There came a gentle knock on his door.

Alistair rolled his eyes up in silence, figuring that once he had made a decision on what to do that he would get interrupted. "Enter." He took his place behind the desk in his personal study once again.

With the creak of the hinges, the heavy door opened and closed with little hesitation. He tried to make himself look interested in the paper pile in front of him, lifting his sight to meet his lady wife. _Oh, I know where this is going. Time to brace the hatches; this is going to be a tremulous storm._

Anora stepped in front of his desk, her blue eyes silently considering the layout of his workspace. Her long hair was loosely braided, wearing a thick purple night robe that was tightly corded around her narrow waist. "Another long night, dear?"

"It appears that way." Alistair replied shortly, unprepared for the usual verbal word games his wife liked to play to string out his true intentions. He always wondered why she didn't just ask straight out from the beginning. It would save them both a lot of time.

She moved to sit in the left wooden chair, smoothing our the fabric of her robe as she settled. "I don't understand why. Nothing should be keeping you up this late and out of bed. Are you feeling well? It's not the...?"

"It's nothing to do with the taint." He reassured truthfully. "Though that does make me hungry for a medium-rare slab of meat with baby potatoes and a nice mug of the darkspawn taint on tap." When he caught sight of her disapproving frown, he let out an exaggerated huff. "Ha ha. It's a joke. Ha ha?"

Her lips thinned into a straight line, considering her words for a moment before speaking. "Truly, what is wrong, dear? You've been out of sorts ever since that night..." She broke off, letting him fill in the blanks.

"Ever since what? Ever since I tossed our sons into that dirty haypile? Or when I forgot about the dinner with the Circle? Or that I lost that shirt you made with the odd buttons?" Alistair rattled off a couple of things he could recall in the past month.

It was Anora's turn for the audible sigh, clearly showing her agitation for his usual defensiveness. "Since that night you slept with me."

"I sleep with you every night." Alistair noted matter-of-factly. He knew he wasn't going to get away with that answer. Her blue eyes held that typical quiet rage she would never dare vent out loud, but had no qualms with piercing others with that icy stare. "Nothing is wrong. Is it wrong for the king to have a lot on his mind?"

Anora fell into complete silence, staring at him directly. She knew he would run her around in circles, never truly answering the question unless she directly knew exactly what it was that was at the source. "Does this have to do with Leliana's extended absence? She's been away from Denerim for a few weeks now."

"Her absence does trouble me, yes. She had urgent Chantry business in Orlais that she told me that she couldn't put off any longer. I'm still awaiting word from her in the next few days." He tried to gloss over the matter with a white lie. It saddened him on some level that he had to use this tactic a little more than he cared to. That level was likely so low that the Maker would have trouble finding it.

Anora arched a delicate eyebrow. "Oh? Is that right? Are you positive that she is only there for Chantry business?"

_Ah, here we go. It wouldn't be my dear Anora if she didn't circle around it like a mabari hound circling a fallen pork chop. Mmm.. pork chop. Wait, that would make me the pork chop. Not a good idea, that._

His thoughts trailed off for a moment before trying to act as dismissively as possible. "That's what she said, yes. Do you think I should doubt one of my most trusted companions, my dear?"

"Of course not." Anora answered under her breath. "I'm just trying to say that perhaps it wasn't Chantry business she was away on."

Alistair chuckled, leaning back against the cushions of his wooden chair. His throne away from throne. "What are you implying, my dear?" His mood sobered instantly, switching to his serious face. "You had her followed again, didn't you?"

"Perhaps I did." Anora admitted with shockingly little aversion.

He curled his fingers into fists as they rested on each armrest, hidden from her view. "So, what exactly do you know, _my dear wife_?" He stretched out the last three words, knowing she didn't like it when he did that.

"It would be nice to hear the truth from you for a change." She kept her irritation at bay. "Since I know you'll spin this off into a silly anecdote, I mean your old friends that served by your side during the time of the Blight. How long did you expect me to let this slide until I had to take matters into my own hands?"

Alistair frowned deeply, casting his heated gaze in the direction of the window. "I apologize that never in your life you had a 'friend' that didn't serve you." He turned his gaze back to his queen. "There was never any deception behind stretching the truth. Some things are easier to deal when there are fewer people involved."

As Anora stood from her chair briskly, preparing to round the desk to give him a _louder_ piece of her mind, there came a light rapping on the door.

He silently spoke a word of thanks to the Maker for at least postponing an argument waiting to happen. "Enter."

Ser Ciaran stepped through the doors, holding a small bundle under one arm. Upon noticing the queen, he dropped into a formal bow. "Excuse my interruption, your majesties. If I had known..."

"Don't worry, the queen was just wishing me a good night." Alistair smiled broadly, directed at the heated gaze Anora shot at him that only he could see.

Anora shook her head, her braid swishing back and forth like a pendulum. "That I was. What do you bring at this hour, Ser Ciaran?"

The young knight stepped forward to the side of the king's desk, bringing forth a small chest from under his arm. He held it forth with both hands, bowing his head. "This was delivered early this evening. It has been checked for any magical influence and traps. It checked out clean after the court mage removed the seal. Would you like me to open it first?"

Alistair examined the chest from his vantage point, noticing a small set of initials he always kept an eye out for . "No. I'll take it from here. I thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ciaran."

The young knight flushed with pride, his cheeks almost matching his short red hair. He gave a salute to the king first, queen second before stepping out as quietly as possible.

He placed the chest carefully down in front of him, pushing himself from his chair to stand over the object of interest. He caught sight of Anora, stopping himself from opening the latch. "I guess you want to see what's inside?"

Anora crossed her arms across her chest, walking slowly to join him by his side. "You have a choice in the matter, my dear. Either I get to see what this pertains to or I'll continue where I left off. Your choice."

He smirked, shrugging half-heartedly. "So be it. I doubt it'll be very exciting." He unlocked the latches on the front of the lid, slowly opening it to reveal the contents inside. All that sat in the box was a vintage bottle of Rivaini liquor in a stout, smoky obsidian bottle with a gold seal around the cork.

"See? A bottle of fancy spirits. Does this look like the stuff of conspiracies, my dear?" Alistair carefully lifted the bottle from the velvet stuffing, examining it against the nearby candlelight he had on his desk.

She didn't waste a moment removing the stuffing from the chest, trying to find if there was anything else tucked away in the parcel. When she came up with only a small note, her eyes focused intently on the bottle. "The note states: 'A gift for Ferelden's king. May he toast the coming of the new year.' There isn't any indication who it's from. I've only seen a bottle like that once before, it's quite an expensive gift to send to begin with. Even more so since it's from an anonymous source."

Alistair handed the bottle to her, letting her examine it at her own volition. "Maybe they're just shy? It's not the first time we've received something such as this. It's a bit early for the new year, but nothing truly out of the normal. If it bothers you so, you can always try to track down its sender."

Anora tilted the bottle in every direction she could, appraising it with a careful eye. "So, where's the hidden message? And don't play dumb with me."

Alistair considered his options for the problem he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid forever. He knew she was trustworthy, yet it had been so hard to open himself to her. Their marriage had been a strained one, mainly due to his standoffish nature at the beginning of their marriage. He had tried to make amends and they had been able to come to terms with each of their losses, learning to rely on each other with time. It took the birth of Bryce for them to find a plateau they could meet each other in love. Since that day, it had become easier to talk and even share time together in their rare moments of free time. It had become comfortable. Until this...

Without another word, he slipped his hand into the inside of his overcoat draped across his chair, pulling forth the deciphered message. "You will promise me that this stays between us. If this information manages to spread, I'll know exactly where it originated. I will not be lenient in that case." His words carried a tone he only used when he was absolutely serious, his light-brown eyes hard as steel with his resolve.

The surprised look on her face was priceless. Her mouth gaped open slightly at seeing this side of him as her eyes searched his, finding no flaw in his armor as the silence settled between them. "I... I see. I promise. I promise on the love of my father, our sons and Ferelden that anything between us will stay between us."

He gave a small chuckle, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Also, try not to let anyone else know I can be that stringent. I'll never get a moment's rest when they know they can get a straight answer from me." He lifted the bottle from her hands slowly, slipping the note into her grasp in return.

Her eyes flickered quickly across the small parchment. Her brow furrowed visibly, biting her lower lip in contemplation. "I can see why you didn't want to say anything about this. This is grave news indeed. Has she had any luck finding any further information?"

"The last time she visited me here, she had heard a vague rumor about a dragon cult forming further north, around fringes of the Imperium." He gave her what little information he had thus far, resting the bottle on his desk. "It's likely her next report is hidden in this package."

Anora peered over at the bottle in question. "Do you know what to look out for?"

"Leliana told me about various ways she knew how to send messages. Since she had it magically sealed, it must be of great importance. That and she isn't here herself, meaning she might've found something worth pursuing." Alistair considered the chest with the small marking that Leliana used, taking it up in his hands to give it a closer inspection. "Any ideas?"

Anora slipped the note back into his overcoat, moving to touch Alistair's hands on the box. "Destroy the box."

"What? What if she hid the means to translate the message somewhere on this chest?" He tried to reason, letting Anora take the container into her hands. She dropped the thick wooden chest to the floor, barely causing any damage to it.

"Great and I thought you were the non-hasty one." Alistair smirked lightly, moving away from the desk over to the fireplace. He picked up the small maul resting against in the stone nook housing other fireplace tools. He jogged back over, gathering strength into his arm before slamming the blunt weapon into the chest, shattering it into manageable pieces. Anora knelt down, sifting through the wooden remains until she came across a small tube.

Alistair lent the maul against the edge of his desk, taking the tube from Anora as she rose back to her feet. With deliberate care, he managed to peel the note from its confides, sliding it open to see the message. "Of course, I didn't expect it to be that easy, right?" Each letter was cut-off in various places, making it impossible to guess what each letter could be without extensive time trying to puzzle it out.

Anora grabbed the neck of the bottle, tapping her knuckles along the glass. Her eyes caught on the bottom, the glass seeming darker there with the liquid receded from it. Her fingertips searched the base, finding a small latch that allowed the bottom to be twisted off. The second part of the message was folded neatly in a square, pinned to the secret compartment.

"That would've taken me a while to figure out." He spoke drolly, accepting the second part to line up with the first. With both pieces intact, the message could finally be read. He held it close to the candlelight, the words becoming easier to read as the light shined through.

**'The dragon cult uprising appears to be more fact than fiction. Their numbers grow due to forced initiation, it's unknown what methods might be used. Blood magic is likely at play here. This cult goes by the name Blood of Andraste. Upon further investigation, it appears that those forces are moving south, away from the Imperium. It is possible that Haven might be one of their destinations. I will continue to follow these rumors in that direction. Please tell my child that my love is with them always.'**

Alistair licked his dry lips, letting the message sink in while plotting his next course of action. He handed the papers to Anora, watching her absorb it as well. "You know what this fool is going to do. I can't stand by now if this threat is extending into Ferelden."

Anora returned the message to him, her eyes watching the small dancing fire atop the candle. "I know I wouldn't win this argument, my dear. I think it's time we visited Haven since its renovation. I would very much like to see the church that was built to honor Andraste's final resting place."

"Wait. We?" Alistair started to argue until Anora leaned into his shoulder.

Anora smiled faintly as his arm looped around her shoulder, allowing her to lean into his side. "I have an idea what's flying through your head. Gathering the men and riding off to Haven will tip off anyone who might be watching. It's best to treat this as a royal excursion as we've visited many of the towns rebuilt after the Blight. This would seem more natural."

Alistair pressed his lips to the top of her head, smiling broadly. "Naturally, you're already two steps ahead of me. I would like to make our way towards Haven as soon as humanly possible, do you think you can make the arrangements? It makes more sense if you are in charge of this part since you have been for the others."

"True." Anora slipped away, kneeling once more to gather the remains of the chest into her hands. "Are there any other things I should know? Any other secrets that will come knocking upon our door?" With all wooden shards in hand, she shuffled towards the fireplace, adding a bit more fuel to the flames.

Alistair slipped the message into the same inner pocket on his overcoat. "Unless you care about my midnight raidings on the palace kitchens, there's not much else you aren't aware of. It's not that I wanted to keep you in the dark on this; I just wanted to have something more to go on than the original message entailed. It's been hard to sit here and do nothing. I should be out there, trying to set things right and put Ayda's remains back where they belong. That's why I called on Leliana's skills. She could go where I could not."

"That's quite a selfish request to make of a dear friend who has her own life and family now." Anora pointed out, brushing her hands off as she moved back towards him.

Alistair moved the bottle off his papers to a clear spot off to the right, preparing to sit back down to clear up these matters before directing his efforts to prepare for Haven. "I know, Anora, I know. Even if I didn't ask, she would've gone ahead with or without my consent. Ayda meant a great deal to her and she bore the loss harder than most of us. The least this king could do was give her the means of finding the answer to the question."

Anora started to speak, stopping before the words could tumble from her. There would be time for talk during the journey. Her concerns could wait till later. "Come. Lets try to get some sleep and we'll get started on the arrangements first thing in the morning."

"You can go on ahead. I want to finish up this paperwork before I turn in for the night." He spoke quietly, his fingers already sliding between the parchment to sort into a manageable order. He was silently grateful that she didn't press further into that lingering issue right now. It wasn't the time now to sort through his feelings, he'd have enough time during their travels to give it more thought.

Anora offered a feeble smile, her robes swishing softly as she approached the door. "Don't stay up too late."

"I will." Alistair couldn't find anything witty or sarcastic to reply with, his mind preoccupied with planning out the days ahead. He watched after his lady wife as she exited through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

His tired eyes focused on the work in front of him. As he returned with renewed vigor to finishing it up, Alistair felt a warm touch to his chest. He raised a hand to touch that spot, feeling a hint of soothing nostalgia. Despite the few weeks gone by, the dream still felt as fresh as if had just experienced it. Perhaps it was a sign that she was watching over him.

_Don't worry, Ayda. We will right this wrong. I swear it._

_

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm back after a small hiatus. Moving across state made it hard to get stable internet access, but I continued to type away at this tale. As a result, it's much bigger than I expected. Perhaps it's a bit bloated, but it helped get a lot of ground covered as well. Hopefully, I can get a chapter or two out each week from here on out. Again, this is more build-up that I love to get carried away on. It does start to introduce the way the story will start to head and that's where things will start to come together. Again, thanks for all the feedback! Feel free to send me thoughts on this latest chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade;  
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light.  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.  
-- Canticle of Trials 1:14**

*******

The world stilled.

She was starting to feel like a frayed ball of yarn in the paws of a mischievous cat; being batted one place to the next without rhythm of reason. This warm touch on her shoulders kept her from scattering asunder. Together, all in one. She knew that this presence wouldn't let her flow astray in the turbulent nature of the Fade.

The being from before... It had felt familiar and foreign. A friend and a stranger. Fragmented yet whole, almost how Ayda was feeling as her existence coalesced into one thread. _Only one?_

Her eyes fluttered open, expecting to see a warm hearth fire before her. While the fire still existed, it had become translucent, a shade of what it had been. She lifted her gaze, taking in the desolation of the flat greyish-brown plain in the Fade. The same exact place she and Wynne had been traversing. _Wynne!_

The firm touch remained on the blue velvet on Ayda's shoulders, giving a small squeeze as Wynne noticed her coming back to her senses. "I was worried there for a while. Even I almost didn't realize the shift before it was too late."

"What has happened? Where's Andraste? Where are we...?" Ayda paused with the obvious questions at hand, taking in their current surroundings. The only objects that didn't disappear were the worn wooden table, two chairs and a disconnected stone fireplace. The false flame still flickered with its unnatural livelihood.

Ayda glanced down at her open hands resting in her lap, finding the imperfect rose missing from her grasp. She felt something warm on her chest in the pervasive chill, her fingers slipping up quickly to touch that spot just above her heart. Partially hidden by the sword pendant, the small emblem of a rose in crimson and deep-green held a faint glow before dissipating at her brief caress.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on ebb and flow of the Fade around her. Something had changed. Or had it never been right from the start? How could either of them not notice this until now?

Despite her misgivings, the hands that anchored Ayda were truly those of her old friend, her soul shining softly with its own unique light. The being that she had encountered before lacked such inner brilliance; only a well of disjointed feelings and thought with no soul of its own.

"As much as I'd like to have those answers, I'm afraid I don't know much more than you." Wynne sighed, slowly withdrawing her hands away. "It does impress me that you've grown more accustomed to the way the Fade moves and functions without any prior formal training."

Ayda shook her head, her light-brown eyes slid open. Moving from the chair, she turned to face Wynne, silently appreciating the color her enchanter's robes added to the lifeless place. "I've come to realize the more I believe everything is false, the easier it is to spot what has any real meaning in this fragmented dreamscape."

"True. That's one way to look upon it, however you need to keep your mind open regardless. To simply try to choose the best way to narrowly look upon this place is the greatest mistake many magi have fallen prey to for as long as magic had been known." Wynne instructed, easily slipping back into her old role without a moment's hesitation.

Ayda listened to her words, absorbing them as she visually took note of the total devoid of any defining landmark in any direction. She spoke, distracted with puzzling out the situation. "Were you able to notice what happened?"

"That's certainly the question at hand." Wynne gave a small shrug, holding her hands behind her back. "It had been the same: Andraste, the cottage, the refreshments and the fire. While you stared into the flame, something must have happened. When your form flinched back, that's when everything started... to, well... dim? The colors bled away, and one by one, everything disappeared."

Ayda slid her fingers along the table, feeling the rough texture drag along her calloused touch. Her thoughts strayed from the topic at hand. _Is it a memory that provides the feedback or just an echo in the Fade? Is that what I'm supposed to learn here? Or am I the cause of this disruption?_

"And I made this happen, you say?" She asked in a troubled tone.

Wynne pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to find the right words for a situation that had gone beyond anything she had ever experienced in all her long years. "I can't say with any certainty, Aydalis. What occurred when your looked deeply into that fire? That might be the first step towards a true answer."

As she went to answer Wynne's inquiry, Ayda had to stop herself. How was she going to explain something that almost defied explanation? Words would do little justice to the ordeals she had been through. In an odd spark of clarity, a brilliant idea came into her thoughts.

"It might be easier to show you what I saw." She offered up her idea, tilting her head to catch Wynne's expression.

Wynne gave a curt nod of her head, reaching out her hand in her direction. "If you can concentrate on the specific memory, I'll likely be able to see what occurred. From there, I should be able to guide through the process."

Once she held Wynne's hand, Ayda closed out her eyes, recalling the first excursion within the flame, into Alistair's dream and the encounter with her eventual doppelganger. She tried to remain neutral, managing to show every last detail while reliving the rush of emotion dredged up in the process.

"That's enough, Ayda. You've done especially well for someone not trained in the magical arts." Wynne spoke in a soothing tone, giving her hand a small squeeze. "As I think upon the spirit that took your visage, the way it talked and shifted, be wary of it. It was both curious and dangerous at the flip of a coin. It's not an unusual trait for residents of the Fade, however I could feel the immense strength flowing simply from talking to you. I have no doubts if this being wishes to find you again, it will."

"That's quite reassuring." Ayda sighed deeply. "Well, do you have any other nuggets of wisdom other than a powerful ambiguous spirit that will hunt me down?" She remarked wryly, moving her hand from the light grip to rest on the disembodied fireplace nearby.

Wynne managed a faint smirk. "I'm afraid that this elderly mage can't offer any more nuggets at this time. I can only surmise and conject at any possible conclusions and I'm sure you've already come to the same answers. Perhaps you should ask the Maker if He..."

As she listened to her words, Ayda stared deeply into the faded fire. There had always been fire. From the very moment of her fall to the most recent experience with the doppelganger spirit, there was no escaping the one of most basic primordial elements of the world. In life and death, in reality and within dreams, it existed in some shape or form. She raised her voice, cutting off Wynne in the process. "There's something I want to try."

"What exactly do you have in mind?" Wynne asked quietly, her gaze following where Ayda's still clung to within the hearth.

Ayda steeled herself, knowing if she thought on the possible consequences that she would lose the resolve to push forward. In her mindset, any action in the Fade was like making a gamble with every move. She slid her hand back from the stone mantle, grabbing onto Wynne's hand as she knelt closer to the small blaze. "Trust me."

Before the mage's sound protests could reach her reason, Ayda plunged her hand within the fire, concentrating on the fiery tendrils coursing up her arm. The pain that resulted was greater than anything she had experienced, gasping sharply as her nerves screamed to pull back. _No, no, no. I must endure this... Must move forward..._

The world lurched in that now-familiar motion. She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to scream against the flames. All was ablaze and dark, shifting and quiet. Through it all, she still felt Wynne's hand in hers, giving her a small amount of balance against the forces that threaten to throw her astray.

Ayda could not recall how long the pain roared through her entire being, infusing every inch of her essence. Despite all her inner strength, she felt herself starting to buckle against that raging tide that she had jumped into.

_Behold._

The soothing voice beckoned her, passing along and through her like the fiery ribbons that both caressed like a lover's touch while threatening to tear her asunder. After her second forced attempt to open her eyes against the searing light, she managed a tight squint, trying to shield her eyes futilely to see what summoned her.

Everything flashed into her mind. Memories, emotions and knowledge not of her own. Running in desperation in iron chains, taking up arms against the First Blight, inspiring the amassing armies against the Imperium, betrayal at the hand of her mortal husband and the final act at burning alive at the stake. The last memory lingered longer than the rest; tear-blurred vision taking in the shouting face of the people, the fire consuming inch-by-inch of her flesh and blood.

Ayda felt a brief wave of relief within the fiery maelstrom. _Andraste... It's good that you are safe._

_No. Not safe. Delayed. Ensnared._ Andraste's disjointed voice swam through her thoughts. _Not enough. Too little. Aydalis, free me... from the flames._

With a gradual shake of her head, Ayda didn't have any idea on how to free the elemental shielding her from most of the heat of the hungry inferno. She dared to look behind her, unable to catch sight of Wynne. A tiny squeeze on their interlocked hands signaled that her friend was safe. Before her attention could return to the forefront, an almost familiar weight settled into her free hand.

Her pendant was gone, replaced in her hand as the true Sword of Mercy, one iridescent gem framed by three slots on each side within the darkened-silver guard. The shining blade, engraved with many runes, drove back the tempestuous pyre. The screaming form of phantasmal Andraste, bound to a stake, stood before her in place of the flaming elemental.

_Now!_

The sword struck true, sliding deep with so little effort into the center of Andraste's chest, straight into her heart. Ayda swore she saw a faint smile as the prophetess' visage dissolved into pure radiance. As the glorious burst of light passed through her, she recalled that very same feeling when she took the final blow against the Archdemon, the feeling of being utterly consumed and fulfilled all within the same moment. The emanation grew brighter with each heartbeat, almost reminding her of wings. In the back of her mind, she thought about polishing the breastplate Duncan had given her after the Joining: the insignia of the white griffon.

For once since her descent, Ayda finally felt balanced. Awakening, her essence scattered into a million motes of light, streaking across the whole of the Fade.

The beginnings of a new dawn had finally come. To the Fade. To Thedas. For every being high and low.

*****Outskirts of Highever***  
**

The icy rain started to subside, the incapacitated man laid disposed in the gutter on the side of the road, his blood mingling away with the silent stream.

His bright green eyes took in the sky above, his body feeling heavier with each futile movement to right himself. It was no use, this would be where his body came to rest, in front of the last inn available outside of Highever. He couldn't remember its name, he had never took lodgings there.

His ears picked up the jingle-jangle of his coinpurse. The transgressor didn't seem in any hurry to get away, counting the meager spoils he had mortally wounded the rain-soaked man for. Perhaps he wanted to make sure he had gotten proper compensation for taking such a risk? The dying man didn't know, his slowing mind struggling to find something to latch onto.

"'Twas not even worth dirtyin' my blade over." The transgressor grunted, kicking his worn leather boot into the man's side, causing the wound to bleed heavier. The dying man barely felt it above the pain he was already enduring, a little more wouldn't matter now.

His thoughts drifted to his wife, his two daughters and his only son. Who would take care of them now he wouldn't be able to reach them? Had he really been a good husband, father or even a decent man? He was no better than this lucky thief, smuggling out high-priced goods to brokers in various cities. His family thought he was an important messenger of a noble house. What did it matter what he did? It had provided well all these years and now one careless move cost him everything.

His bloodstained hand crept into the inner pocket of thin leather coat, trying to yank free the small pouch of valuable gems. His true payment for the last long excursion he had endured through the Nevarran grasslands. It had been an exceedingly hard, sleepless ride to deliver his goods to the next runner waiting in Val Chevin along the Orlesian coast. He had joined the man on the same vessel bound for Highever, hoping to reach his family before the new year arrived.

With the first snowfall expected soon, the dying smuggler would never reach home, to that roaring fireplace, to the laughter of his children, to the arms of his wife.

He managed a choked cough, blood trickling down the sides of his mouth. It only served to gain the attention of the cutpurse, his focus likely on the small bag now lying in plain sight on the man's chest. "Oy. Ye be holdin' out on me, are ye?"

The smuggler was rewarded with another sharp blow to the wound in his side. He managed a small groan this time, watching as the hooded thief bent low to retrieve the green velvet pouch to further his gain that night.

Mustering the remainder of his strength, the dying man pulled the hidden dagger from the sheath at his back, driving the cold steel into the man's eye all the way to the hilt. The body collapsed heavily next to his, splashing him with more muddy water in the process.

It was done. That last blow was the all the smuggler had left in him, his dulled eyes returning to look at the clearing sky, the twilight receding to the breaking dawn. His numb fingers cradled the small pouch to his chest, the small victory won against his assailant.

Over the sounds of the rain-filled gutter and of the night, heavy footsteps approached from the nearby road towards him in an even gait. Had someone been watching this whole time? Or another to rob him of his hard-earned compensation?

He tried to focus over the very large form that stood over him now, adorned in a dark leather cloak to keep the elements at bay with a giant hilt rising over his broad right shoulder. "You fought well."

The smuggler tried to manage a few words, only succeeding in coughing up more blood across his lower face. Words were beyond him now. He couldn't even ask the stranger to try to get his last earnings to his family, knowing full well that it would likely be pocketed after a false promise. His green eyes slid sluggishly back to the slowly brightening sky, wanting a small amount of tranquility in his last moments.

His languid vision centered upon an unusual sight in the receding night. The sky was brightening too quickly and in the wrong direction. He made a guttural choking sound, trying to lift his hand to point upward, only one dirty index finger arose to the task.

The hooded wanderer had knelt down next to the smuggler, paying no heed to the mud, wet with rain and blood. He searched the dead assailant briefly, lifting the dirty coinpurse before returning his attention to the dying. Noticing the man's weak attempts to point towards the heavens, the wanderer turned his stoic stare in that direction.

A streak of pure light cut across the opaque clouds, growing brighter as it started to pass over Highever, towards the far west. The smuggler wasn't sure if he perceived it correctly, the glow almost reminded him of a giant white bird. Perhaps an eagle? A griffon? A dragon?

The shining brilliance fell over them as it flew overheard, accompanied by a soft humming. The gentle tone reminded the man of his mother so long ago, drowning out all other sound to ease him to a fitful sleep. His eyes grew heavy, letting the song permeate through him.

He swore he could see the smiling faces of his children, snowflakes in their hair as they played on their new sled. His wife nestled against his side, holding a hot mug of cocoa, rising steam coloring her pretty cheeks as they watched in contented silence over their children's enthused play. It was like being at...

The stranger watched in solemn silence until the white trail could no longer be seen. His violet eyes settled back upon the disheveled man.

His green eye stared upwards, unseeing and far off. The evidence of tears still clung to his weathered features, his expression that of quiet peace.

"In the end, you found solace." The stranger pushed back his heavy hood, letting the rising wind skim through his short, platinum hair. He reached down towards the dead man, sliding his hand over his face to close his endless stare.

He placed the coinpurse under the man's hands in addition to the pouch that he still clung to. Rising to his full height, the wanderer turned his steady gaze towards the southwest. The gentle song had guided him this far in his dreams, now it had become reality, no longer the mad machinations of the tired mind.

It was clear as the breaking dawn where his next steps would take him. To the southwest.

***** Arduin, town southeast out of Orzammar, along Gherlen's Pass***  
**

_Another beautiful sunset consisting of soft pink, purple and indigo hues painted the early dusk sky. Nary a cloud in the sky with a modest breeze causing the golden grass to wave lazily in its wake. The smoke spiraled high from stone chimney attached to the wooden cottage, sitting on the edge of the forest overlooking a sloping valley of pure green._

_She found harmony here, staring over the sinking sun on the western horizon over the valley below. A small place of her very own, built especially for her near the Amaranthine keep, now home to the reestablished sect of Grey Wardens in Ferelden. She hadn't asked for it, but his Highness kept insisting until she eventually caved in._

_It was a pity Leliana never had enough time to really enjoy it, always called away to assist the king or preside over the small Chantry within Amaranthine. She wondered if she shouldn't donate it to a family in need, yet she never had in the few years it had been in her care._

_She should really consider moving back to Denerim, taking a place as an advisor to the king, a position she had turned down due to her unexpected pregnancy at that time. With Aylin getting older and becoming friends with Alistair's sons, she should really give that position more merit as it would benefit her boy in more ways than one._

_However, as she took in the sunset, those cares and worries melted away. Her blue eyes took in her son, waving a crooked stick in the air, practicing swordplay he had seen during their frequent trips at Alistair's request. From left to right, right to left, he brandished his weapon along the tall grass, driving it from one direction to the next with the sunset giving him a noble aura._

_"He's beautiful, Leilana." A voice Leilana hadn't heard in a long time caught her attention, tilting her head to catch sight of two people standing next to her, almost appearing out of nowhere._

_Warm, golden-brown eyes met hers in return with a somber smile to match. Though it was hard for her to truly focus, she knew who stood by her side. The dream started to dissolve away at the instant that recognition occurred._

_She tried to speak or move without success, watching both the shadow of Aydalis, Wynne and her son dissolve into the growing sunset, drifting out of reach._

_"When the time comes," The shadow of her old friend's voice drifted into her hazy thoughts. The light started to overwhelm her senses, filling her with an odd sense of warmth and comfort. _

_"Forgive hi..."_

"M'lady..." A calloused hand gave her shoulder another good shake.

Leliana snapped awake, nearly falling out of the chair she had dozed off in, steadying the old, warped lute from tumbling from her lap. She must have drifted off after a little wine next to a warm hearth while playing a song or two for the general tavern crowd, not even making it upstairs to her room above. "Huh? What? Y-yes? Oh... sorry."

"Can you manage?" The dark-haired young man wore a lopsided grin, offering her his hand to assist her to her feet. "Or would you prefer I carry you to your awaiting carriage, m'lady?"

"My, how scandalous of you, Ryark." She chimed flatly, however she didn't forsake the assistance up to her feet. As every stiff muscle roared in protest from the sudden movement, she almost immediately regretted standing up so quickly. "I didn't keep you three waiting too long, I hope?"

"Despite making our last preparations, I'd say no. If you ask Orland, well, you know his answer." Ryark took a step back, giving her room to stretch out her stiff limbs. "Everything is set. All is ready to go at first light."

Leliana was rewarded with several pops and snaps, rubbing her hands along her lower back as she slowly continued leaning from left to right. It served her right for falling asleep in her leathers. "No time to freshen up at all? Or breakfast?"

"I suppose you didn't notice us sitting close by, eating our meals?" He laughed softly, running his fingers through his short, auburn hair. "It wasn't exactly mouthwatering. Filling, yes. I honestly don't blame you for not being roused by that smell..." Before he could finish his sentence, a floury roll pegged him squarely in the back of the head.

"If you don't like the food, there's the door." The middle-aged innkeeper's wife held a woven basket under one arm, full of more 'ammunition' should it be needed. With the apparent frown heavy on her heart-shaped face, she continued filling the breadbaskets at each table in preparation for the morning crowd.

Ryark held his hands up in mock surrender. "I yield! I yield! I didn't mean any offense..."

The door swung open in a swift arc with a solidly built man holding the handle, keeping it from slamming into the stone wall. His gravelly voice cut through the impending argument. "Lets go. Now."

Leliana let a breathy sigh loose, watching after Orland closing the door in his wake. She had known the taciturn man ever since she came under his tutelage at Jakanis' request all those years ago. One of her teacher's most trusted men, Orland was a man who took no nonsense from anyone and expected his instructions to be followed to the letter. In return, he taught her how to handle a weapon with time. Like Jakanis, she had learned that any backtalk would only serve to make matters difficult and she already had enough on her mind to push for any amenities. _Alas, that warm breakfast and possible bath are out of the question now._

Ryark bent down quickly, snatching the dented roll that made contact with his head from the mostly-swept floor. He gave it a gentle blow, trying to free any loose dirt before offering it to Leliana. "It's probably better with the dirt on it." When another roll came flying at his person, he nimbly caught it with a small bow and wink to the mildly exasperated caretaker given in return. He held the second roll out, providing her a choice.

She chuckled softly, taking the fresher second roll that was being offered. "I'm sure the rations will have enough grit that will make up for not choosing the first."

"For shame, m'lady, for shame." Ryark proceeded to wolf down the remaining bun, stepping to open the door for Leliana. He dipped in a short, formal bow, pointing a hand towards the outside all while wearing that cocky grin that sat easily on his stubbled chin. "Ladies first."

Leliana knew better to bite back with this one. He would always turn it around to his advantage; it was simply much easier to go with the flow and not add more fuel to the fire. His mannerisms reminded her a lot of Zevran, yet Ryark's intentions were mostly genuine and with little ulterior motive than to be a shameless rogue. That smile of his was just as dangerous as the two swords at his back; lethal on both fronts. She knew to keep this man at a comfortable distance. _It makes me wonder how Zevran ever got past my defenses..._

They proceeded side-by-side from the lively tavern, Last Call, on the edge of town, along the road leading out towards a fork leading towards Orzammar. She hoped that they would make good time to catch up to Alistair's slow-moving royal procession, according on the placement from the last messenger that reached them a few days prior. The sooner she got to the king's side, the sooner she'd be able to hug her son and muss up his unruly hair. While she did have a small measure of pleasantries during this hectic trip, the only thing she wanted in all of Thedas was to be back with her son.

She inhaled deeply of the cold morning air, trying to jog her sleep-heavy senses into motion. After parting from Ryark when they reached their hardy mounts, she grabbed the thick fur-lined cloak resting on the saddle. As she secured the fasteners to her leather shoulderguards, a loud crash resounded to her left.

While both Ryark and Orland already sat astride their dark-brown workhorses, the last person of their four-man unit meekly closed the door he had thrown open, bringing the rest of his effects over to his own horse. More young boy than man, the skinny youth answered to Tomes. That's what Ryark called him, Leliana recalled. It wasn't until they arrived at Jader that Ryark told her that the boy had never spoken more than a few words in his presence. The way Tomes' eyes shifted about warily told her he likely suffered a great deal in his life. Maybe she'd sing a song just for him the next time they stopped to set up camp.

Leliana was silently thankful for the distraction, knowing full well Orland was shooting steel at Tomes, still trying to saddle up as quick as humanly possible with cold, bare fingers fumbling at the straps. Even with practiced effort, she lifted herself onto the tall draft horse with some difficulty. They couldn't be choosy when they arrived by boat to Jader; these were the only horses that could weather traveling over low, snow-heavy mountain terrain to cross over to Orzammar. She wasn't accustomed to riding such a large breed of horse, but hers had been patient thus far. Of course, she gave him small handfuls of dried fruit whenever they stopped could be one reason for the additional friendliness.

Her gloved hand patted the horse's broad neck affectionately as he shook his mane in apparent recognition. She glanced over to Tomes, still having trouble securing his satchel to the antsy geldling. If Orland wasn't watching, she would've jumped off to assist the man; all she'd do now with any assistance is give more reason for Orland to come down on them later at camp. She held onto the loose reins, resigned to wait a couple of more minutes before she would crack and help him anyways. _I've only heard one nice word out of that wall of a man and it was 'Acceptable' when I had finished his training._

Her draft horse's ears perked up in two straight lines, tilting his head to glance upward. Her eyes moved to follow what had suddenly drawn the mellow steed's notice. The early morning sky was growing brighter much faster than she had ever seen it this deep in the mountains.

A soft humming felt like a gentle breeze passing over her, reminding her of her mother at bedtime and Lady Cecile during her daily knitting. She could barely remember these tunes from her youth, yet they resounded crystal-clear in her memory. Before she could shield her eyes, the blinding radiance filled her senses.

_Leliana was singing by the campfire, regaling those who lingered nearby with her trained voice. She knew they were there, however they were little more than translucent shades of her former comrades. As she reached the last verse of her song, her gaze settled upon the approaching shadow stepping towards the fire. Ayda emerged into the firelight, her visage clear as day. A broad smile sat easily on her tanned face, still adorned in the dark blue warden commander armor excluding the helm. With a simple gesture, Ayda held her gauntlet-adorned hand to her, palm upward. The final passage of her song came to an end as her hand joined her friend's. The white griffon emblazoned on Ayda's breastplate seemed to come to life, one flap of its feathery wings overwhelmed her in light once more. The earth felt pulled out from under her in that fraction of time. Instead of falling, it felt she flew with those bright white wings. The darkness reached upwards, dousing the brilliance that had only just been born._

_Too many voices spoke at once, flashes of different images flooded into her mind. The first she could see with any measure of clarity was King Alistair standing alone amongst his fallen soldiers, sword drawn, half of his face bloodied from a head wound. Before she could see his eyes, the scene changed to the man in red armor, hooded cloak drawn close at an odd angle held a tarnished blade of his own towards the king. Behind the combatant stood an old face Leliana thought she'd never see again. And they were holding a blade to her son's throat... Or was it her son?  
_

Leliana let out a ragged gasp, covering a gloved hand to her mouth to steady herself after such a vision. The bright trail in the sky above lingered, heading towards the southeast. Thankfully, her mount hadn't been startled by her sudden flinch, snuffling at a small patch of hardy grass poking out from the snow. _By the Maker, what did I just experience? A vision? A dream? A warning? Oh, I must get to Alistair!_

The cool air did wonders to bringing equilibrium back to her addled senses, taking in her current companions as she drew her mount closer towards them. She didn't expect to see silent tears mark Orland's weathered cheeks, sliding on his half-helm to hide them away as she approached. It surprised her to see such naked disgust on Ryark's usual jovial face, his eyes aflame as he gazed in the direction of the light trail.

"That's a bad omen." An soft-spoken voice caught her attention, approaching to her right. Tomes was finally atop his own horse after his hurried rush, his oddly calm gaze focused upon the approaching dawn as well.

Orland grunted from under his helm, pulling to the forefront. "It's not the time to be paranoid. Lets go." With a flick of his reins, he pushed the hearty draft horse into a soft gallop along the beaten path. The remaining three moved into position behind the seasoned warrior; Ryark to her left and Tomes to her right.

It didn't take more than under an hour or so before they came across another band of travelers. They heard them first before they caught sight of them, pulled off to the side of the road in an open grove amongst the densely packed pines.

"The song! I can hear it so clearly! She calls! He calls! The darkspawn are coming!"

"There isn't another Blight, sir! Keep your voice down! Orian, help me hold him down!"

"I can barely restrain him. What in the Maker's name happened?"

"The song! It calls me! It's so beautiful and it calls to me. To me!"

"Maybe it had something to do with that light? He seemed fine until it swept over..."

They came upon a man and woman currently holding down the one who continued to shout. Their lighter mounts shimmied in place nervously, hastily tied to the nearest tree to them. It took a moment for Leliana to recognize their armor; these were Grey Wardens from Orlais. It wasn't an unexpected sight to see them here as many came to Ferelden to fill out the ranks on the king's request.

"I need to go! Remove your hands from me! Did you not see that abomination in the sky?! It will doom us all! The Blight comes! Blightbringer!" The livid man shouted at them in his delirium, struggling against them. Even with the two holding him down, they were having trouble keeping their own balance.

As Leliana started to motion to Ryark towards the group, Orland turned his head quickly. "Don't you dare go over there. They aren't our concern."

"Obviously, they are in need of help." Leliana shot back, her sight remaining on the scene close by. Ryark didn't budge from her left, adhering to Orland's orders. Or was it that his far-off expression so preoccupied that he didn't notice? She strained to look past him, trying to get a better view of the Wardens in the trampled snow.

Leliana took note that the man they held down had some grey in his hair and beard with lightly-blotched skin around the right side of his face, likely the once-dependable leader of the small group. He struggled against their hold, leaning forward heavily as he tried to pull away. His feral blue eyes caught glimpse of them, watching them in complete silence before his hoarse voice roared out again.

"That light signals the end of us all! We must make a stand!"

Leliana drew her lips into a thin line, turning her attention back to Orland in front of her. "If you aren't going to allow me to help them, can we please pick up the pace so we might be able to reach my destination and send aid?"

"Once we reach your destination, it doesn't matter what in Andraste's name what you do. The only thing I was hired to do was to escort you safely and that's what I'm trying to do. If you're going to make this difficult, I will say there's nothing a sister of the Chantry can do for a mad Grey Warden." Orland spoke roughly over his shoulder, adjusting the cloak around his broad shoulders.

"Fair enough. Lead on." She muttered begrudgingly, giving her reins a light rap to push her horse into a faster pace to match Orland's. The shouting continued to haunt them until they were out of range. Leliana could still hear those words ringing in her ears. All that accompanied them along the drawn-out hours were the occasional chirping of birds or a far-off howl of a wolf. _Did that light cause that Grey Warden to see something? The other two didn't seem affected..._

To her right, Tomes caught something that flew off the tree branch he had just passed. His hands opened to reveal a small squirrel, making a soft chattering noise as the boy gave him a few morsels of dried fruit from his side pouch. She watched as he listened intently before the squirrel jumped off to another branch, dried fruit in tow.

Orland turned his head enough to gaze directly at the wiry boy. Tomes gave a stern nod, taking hold of his reins once more. She knew what the eye signal meant; they were being followed. Their leader rapped his knuckles against his lower back, signaling that they were going to push forward.

It was only at this point that Ryark seemed to come out of his fog, his face taking on that determined look that was more like him, one hand rested on the hilt of his blade while the other held both side of the reins.

In a flurry of motion, their group urged their steeds into a running gallop, their large hooves kicking up the snow and mud as they made their getaway. It didn't take long for their pursuers to come crashing from the trees, mounted on smaller horses.

Leliana urged her horse as fast as he would go, knowing full well the draft horses they had purchased wouldn't outrun these Orlesian throughbreds. Those horses were typically reserved for the Chevalier, yet their pursuers all rode them. She dared to look over her shoulder, the wind whipping her hood against her chilled face. _Those red cloaks! Can it be the Blood of Andraste? Have they stalking our steps the entire way? No... perhaps they were waiting for us to come into Ferelden._

The branches lashed against them as they pushed through the narrow path, losing ground steadily to their faster assailants. She could make out an open clearing right in front of them, trying to get ahold of her bow tied behind her without losing sight of the rest of the group. As the moved into the open space, Orland rounded his horse around, letting Leliana pass before moving his horse in front, effectively blocking her with his presence.

Their ten pursuers brought their horses to a hard stop, two men toppling off their mounts as they reared back in protest. The leader of the group wore a red full helm, scarred with many dents and scrapes from many battles. With a brief swipe of his hand towards them, four soldiers prepared to attack, two with sword and shield and two with well-worn bows.

As she prepared to leap from her horse, Orland gave her a brief shake of his head, throwing aside his cloak to grab the massive axe carried on his back. "You need to run. Get to the encampment. I saw smoke rising from the south. Head there. We can hold our own here."

Their brief words were cut short as an arrow whizzed by, coming close to hitting Orland in the side. Leliana clenched her teeth together tightly, watching as Orland, Ryark and Tomes stood their ground, their horses running off in various directions into the woods. _I can't just run without giving them some aid. Perhaps I could lure the leader away..._

She pulled her longbow in front of her, her knees holding to the side of the horse as she steadied herself to shoot from horseback. Nocking an arrow, she let loose, aiming for the red-helmed leader. The arrow was deflected upon his red shield, the white Sword of Mercy emblazoned on its front.

"Go!" Orland shouted from his front spot in the formation, his axe readied before him. Ryark stood to his right, his dual blades brandished, reflecting the mid-afternoon sun.

Leliana wheeled her steed around, nudging the laboring horse to start back into a heavy gallop.

"Tomes! Now!" She heard Orland call out as weapons clashed in a loud clang, risking a glance over her shoulder as she started to put distance between herself and the ensuing battle.

The very air around them began to pick up speed, dragging the new snow into the fray as the boy called forth magic through the half-staff he held in front of him. The small storm tore at the men, threatening to pull them in just as ferociously. The storm grew, obscuring the scene from her view.

She gave the horse another gentle push with her knees, catching sight of the smoke that Orland mentioned. If she could just reach the camp in time, she could get reinforcements. Her ears caught a loud sound approaching from behind. _Two, maybe three? I dare not look or I'll hit a branch on this dense path._

An arrow cut dangerously close to her face, hitting the large branch that scraped past, causing the snow to explode into her vision.

Leliana held tight to the reins and saddle, leaning close to the laboring steed's neck. _Maker's mercy! Watch over us!_

With her eyes steadied forward, she kept moving, even as her heart froze in her chest at the metallic clang of their approach rose up steadily behind her._  
_

*****Encampment, south of Gherlen's Pass***  
**

Every moment wasted in this slow procession was another moment that he could be too late. The approaching winter made the journey all the more arduous and drawn out. The heavy wagons, full of nobility, supplies and unnecessary frills, continued to lurch along the uneven road along the northern road that hugged close to the icy shores of Lake Calenhad. The oxen continued to pull dutifully, the guards held within their positions around the entourage and the scouts kept them appraised on the area around and further ahead. Everything had been just perfect thus far.

Except the king's patience was as thin as the ice barely formed on the nearby lake.

The days had become as hard to endure as the long, motionless nights; the plodding pace only served to make Alistair feel trapped up to his shoulders in molasses with his ankles tied together. _Not that I've ever had the pleasure, but this sure comes as close to what I imagined. Well, with less feathers._

Alistair couldn't remember the last time he had slept more than a couple of hours. Another unfortunate side-effect of the lingering taint, any attempted rest would only result with close to four hours of counting lovely darkspawn. He would only wake to find himself ravenous; his hunger so violent that it frightened him sometimes. It didn't matter if he had come from a sumptuous feast, the result was usually the same. He had become accustomed to waking up in a cold sweat with his stomach growling, just like every day since his Joining. _Another day, another midnight snack. Or two. Or five._

He rested back against his cushioned wooden chair, staring down at the crumb-lined plate that had been his early morning tide-over until breakfast. He took a long sip from his old wooden mug, glancing over his table filled with rolled papyrus and writing effects to notice the half-full wineglass that remained. Sometimes, his lady wife would sit up with him during his usual spells, tonight had been one of those occasions.

While he was certainly still thirsty, he couldn't stomach that bitter Gwaren vintage Anora was so fond of drinking with unerring frequency. As long as he'd known her, she always took this as her drink of choice. _If it didn't taste like rotten grapes mixed with pork fat, I might even like it a little. Just a little._

"Sire?" A voice pulled him thankfully from his wandering, tired thoughts. Placing his favorite mug back on the table, he took in the shadowy sight of Leymon by the wagon's back entrance, suited in his usual chainmail and leather. "Ready for the morning sparring session?"

"Ah, that's right. Same time every morning, yet it always slips my mind." Alistair pushed from the comfortable spot in his chair, shrugging into his fur-lined longcoat as he joined Leymon by the entrance. He paused midway, grabbing the half-full slender glass flute from his table.

"It's just an oversight, sire." Leymon offered, his hands held behind him in his rigid stance when addressing the king. "We haven't been under the usual circumstances."

Alistair clapped his free hand on Leymon's shoulder, letting out a hearty chuckle. "You certainly have the right of it. This is certainly King Alistair's Whimsical Traveling Circus. Oh! Come see the ladies-in-waiting juggle flaming corsets, blindfolded! All gather around to see the Queen turn a man into ice with the power of her gaze!"

That even managed to get a quiet snicker out of the reticent guard. "I'm quite sure Her Majesty would disapprove of your... umm, vote of confidence, my liege."

"See? I knew I'd get you crack one of these days with my quips. I believe Ser Ciaran owes me a nice bottle of Highever's finest wine for the winning the bet." Alistair wore a bright smile, bringing color back to his sleep-worn features. He dumped the contents of the wineglass into the snow, placing the glass on a nearby barrel, the bright red looking like blood dashed on the fresh snow.

Leymon pursed his lips tightly, returning back to silence as he followed the king back out into the early morning cold. The fresh layer of snow crunched under their footsteps, moving towards the direction of the campfire. Since it was mostly the guards up at this early hour, he gave them the sign to stand at ease as he stepped further into the encampment.

Alistair stared down into the roaring campfire, greatly tempted to sample the bubbling porridge as the thick scent caught his nose. With a soft sigh, he held out his arms, letting Leymon assist him with putting on the dull-grey scale mail, the very same his men wore during sparring. His lady wife voiced her opinion on wanting him to wear the golden armor of the king; he let that statement fly in one ear and out the other. _What crazy purpose does it serve to wear that uncomfortable armor other than to tell the enemy 'Oh look! There's the king!'?_

Once Leymon gave the silent nod that he was finished, Alistair took that moment to adjust and test the leather straps to his liking before sliding on the bulky gauntlets over his hands. He slid a quick hand over his disheveled hair, smoothing it away from his eyes as he took in the starry night sky starting to recede into the new day.

He took up his sword, removing the blade from the well-oiled leather scabbard. The flames played along its well-honed edges, the meticulous care over the years had been one of Alistair's few treasured moments of absolute solitude. Every night after placing his sons down to rest, he sat in on the battlements, polishing and whetting it with painstaking care under the mingled lights of the fire and moon. The blade had been by his side ever since Duncan gifted it to him a few days after his Joining; besides his family and the few mementos left from Ayda, nothing else held such reverence for him. It was a part of him and carried it always at his side. _Funny. She thought the blade looked a bit over-sized for a longsword, wondered if I was compensating for something. I sure showed her... Great, now I'm starting to sound like Oghren.  
_

With Leymon quietly at his side, they joined the band of men preparing in their own ways before the real exercises began. There were about fifty or so gathered while the other half rested from taking the night watch. Alistair had handpicked most of the men accompanying their royal entourage, knowing many quite well from the constant forays into the wilderness to hunt after reported darkspawn. Amongst his own men, he had asked six familiar Grey Wardens to intersperse with his troops just in case their expertise might be needed. Noone knew exactly what to expect once they reached Haven; it was best to be prepared in as many ways Alistair could think.

He rose his sword in unison as they started to run through different techniques, serving as a means to warm-up before falling into paired-off sparring. The men were almost in complete unison, shifting from low feint to high slash to a deflecting parry as they shifted in between routines. They were trained well, ready as any squad could be going into an unknown situation. Alistair was proud of these men and they were proud to have him as their leader and king.

As they drew numbers to start pairing off each other at random, the horses and oxen kept together became noticeably agitated, shifting against each other as much as their restraints would allow. There was nothing the squires attending them could do to calm them as they started to pull back violently on their harnesses. When the first oxen lost its footing in the thick mud, it was the start of a chain reaction as all the animals flew into a wild tirade, trying to free themselves without care of anything else around them.

The morning sparring session broke down, the guards running over to pull the beast away from each other in an effort to calm them. For all the wild, flickering eyes, cowered ears and exposed teeth, the men were having a hell of a time trying to settle down these beasts. There had never been any problems quite as severe as this; this was not one simple frightened creature, it was the whole pack in its entirety.

Alistair sheathed his sword at his side while rushing in the direction of all the ensuing chaos. The light in the sky started to grow brighter far too fast. A soft humming slid over the now-bustling camp, mostly gone unnoticed. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes focusing in the direction the light was brightest. As the radiance washed over Alistair, he felt his whole body grow heavier with each second passed, despite the uncontrollable anarchy only a few feet away from him.

Everything slid into a blur around him, falling to his knees in the muddy snow, his sheathed sword keeping him from falling completely to the ground. The very sensation felt so familiar; the inner oppression, the resulting pain, the residual hunger were all present. A wave of nausea hit him like a blind ogre, gritting his teeth together to remain conscious. He closed his eyes in brief respite, driving away the piercing light from his already besieged senses. It did little good, the pressure within his chest made it hard for him to breathe, clutching his left hand against his chainmail around his heart in response. The world around him started to waver and fall away, his vision blurring as he could barely make out the people crowding around him, shouting words he couldn't hear.

His sword fell from his numb fingers, the frigid ground racing up to meet him. He felt hands catch him, their fingers clawing at him as their concerned voices became shrill screams. Before he could manage to fight against his captors, the encompassing darkness chased him away from the light.

*******

He ran.

By the Maker, his bare feet had never been as fast as they were now, the cold stone resounding with the naked sounds of his retreat. He dared not to look over his shoulder; the shadows were always after him, waiting to get their dark talons into the rest of him that was untouched. Their screams pierced through him, their eyes boring into his skin with such avarice; relentless, hungry and desperate.

The empty grey hall filled with gentle moonlight went on as far as he could see. It vaguely reminded him of his early days in the Chantry. Yet there were no doors, no tapestries, no signs of anything else besides him and the voracious black hounding his steps.

His lungs burned with the cold air he breathed in, his feet numb from the pervasive chill and the exhaustive pace he had kept up for... for... he wasn't sure. It had certainly felt like nothing short of an eternity.

Alistair felt the heavy burden weighing down on him, his fingers darting to where the leather straps held under his arms. His hurried touch felt nothing but rough cotton, daring a glance down at his apparel. All that he wore was an over-sized tunic that clung awkwardly to his equally awkward frame.

He had returned to being a near-adolescent boy. The very same who hated the Arl out of blind rage for sending him away from the only home he had ever known. Despite this realization, the encumbrance remained. He swept his hand through his short, disheveled hair, feeling the weight give away at his touch. He caught sight of the tarnished crown out the corner of his eye, hearing the metallic clank upon its initial drop and silence in its wake, swallowed by the cold void licking at his heels.

His limbs felt a renewed strength, picking up the pace considerably. Ever since this madness started, he felt that he was gaining the advantage with every step on the faceless existence.

That small spark of elation did little more to spur on the restless dark stalking behind him, awaiting the very moment that Alistair could not fight back. While it was always hungry, it was patient; for in the end, it would be the only thing left.

The chase stretched as long and far as the monotone hallway, a quiet battle between the hidden heir and the merciless taint that was coming to a crossroads.

Alistair labored to keep ahead, fighting the desire to collapse into a heavy, gasping pile on the ground to rest his exhausted self. His pace waned, the icy tendrils brushing at his exposed shins in anticipation.

Something struck Alistair's bare toes, bouncing upward at the collision. With a small stroke of luck, he managed to catch it in his hand. It was a wadded piece of parchment, the words spoke with a voice that haunted his recent dreams.

_Dear Alistair,  
I'm not sure how to start this letter._

"You won't trick me, darkness..." Alistair screamed loudly, his high-pitched voice almost startling him as he tossed the piece of paper behind him.

_I apologize I couldn't simply face you with these words. Even writing these words have become something I'm having difficulty accomplishing. I've lead our group through thick and thin and this is where I choke up? You can have a small chuckle at my expense, I'll allow it just this once._

Alistair frowned deeply, trying to dodge the reoccurring wad of paper rolling in front of him, only to have it reappear every time it passed him by. Every time it touched him, her voice sang in his burning ears.

_Now you've had a laugh at my expense, please read these words and try to understand a decision I made recently. Perhaps I was too hastily to turn it down, yet I knew I couldn't risk you choosing the third option. Because I knew you would.  
_

As the soft words described Morrigan's offer, he kept charging forward, vainly trying to ignore emotions he had locked away from rising to the surface. He had buried himself in his own self-pity after her death. When he finally managed to look at himself without regret, almost three years had passed. While he would always love Ayda deeply, he couldn't let it keep him from forging a future for himself, for those he called friend and for those he hadn't come to love yet.

_I refused Morrigan's offer. The third option. A way out. I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk the chance you would agree with her demands. If you knew that a Grey Warden didn't have to give up their life to defeat the Archdemon, would you choose that option despite what had to be traded in return? I was certain that you would despite the consequences that would result from such a union. As she awaited my answer to seek you out, I told her I wouldn't do it. I remember the roaring flames behind Morrigan were nothing compared to the vehemence in her shocked gaze when I slapped away her proposal. You would've appreciated that moment, at least._

"I do... I could envision it..." He exhaled, letting the discarded paper brush past his feet. With each disjointed piece of the letter, the darkness felt a little further off.

_My decision has been made. If there had to be one to deal the final blow, I'll be the one to do so. Ferelden needs you and Riordan; one to be a great king and the other to bring back the Grey Wardens. I promised to stand at your side as your wife and that is still something I want with all my heart. It is because I love you, Alistair, that I made the decision alone and without hesitation. If you manage to read this before we reach Denerim, please don't stop me from my chosen path. Please don't hold this against yourself. Your love saved me when I thought my heart had been lost and now I wish to return all you did to sustain me after the loss of my family and the events that led to this point. From that first joking smile, I thank you with everything that I am and my love will be with you. Always._

Alistair wanted to laugh at himself for the grand fool he had become. While he tried to act high and mighty, it took so very little to rush all those old emotions back to the surface. He had made every effort to move on, yet for all he had achieved since he found the will to stand again, he wasn't able to shut those feelings away. Ever since that vague dream, thoughts of her invaded his thoughts in those all too frequent quiet moments at night.

He held out his hand again, letting the singular wad of paper bounce into his awaiting palm. As his shaky fingers tried to pry it apart, the lackadaisical tolerance of the unknown pursuer came to an end, charging forward with frightening speed to finally claim its prize.

Alistair managed to yank open the crumpled-up sheet, all that he could make out in the dim moonlight was the shape of a crudely-drawn door before the crawling darkness started to swarm all around the hall, blocking out the rest of the light. He turned his fevered gaze in front of him, squinting his eyes to make out the shape of a warped door not too far off to the right down the hall.

With that last reserve of his strength, the young man gained a short-lived burst of speed, his hand desperately reaching out to grasp the iron door handle. He swore he could hear the muffled sound of someone crying surround him. Was it the darkness? Was it him? Was it...?

"Aydalis." His dry lips managed to speak the very word he had tried to bury, tried to ignore. He had tried to push these feelings away, yet all he had accomplished was doing a great injustice to the only woman who saw the better man he would become. As if by his own will, the door handle slid into his grasp, yanking open the heavy wooden door with little resistance, slamming it shut behind him.

As he managed to bar the door, one loud bang rammed into the solid door, resounding painfully through his head. Then it went silent, waiting. However, the sobbing remained.

Alistair collapsed to the ground, one knee at a time until his palms rested on the stone before him. His head hung low, breathing heavily as the exhaustion caught up to him. It wasn't until the third stack of loose papers thwacking him in the head did he realize he wasn't alone.

"What? Why are you sitting? It's not time to rest, stupid!" A boisterous voice scolded him from across the nondescript bedroom.

He lifted his head to view the verbal assailant in question, smoothing his free hand through his short hair. "Huh? Wait a minute... stupid? Is that the best you can do?"

The scrawny girl crouched low to the ground, her slight arms resting on her knees as she held up a bunch of random drawings in her sooty fingers. "Stupid, there's no time for chit-chat! Don't you see all these papers I have to go through? If you had simply picked up what I threw the first time, I wouldn't have to hurry and now you've dragged _it_ here. Great job, stupid."

Alistair pursed his lips tightly at the rude girl. He shouldn't let a little girl's crassness get under his skin. If he could handle Morrigan's bitchiness, this should be a cakewalk. _Mmm... cake. Wait, no. Not time for that._

After a quick assessment of his surroundings, he wasn't sure what to tackle first. The little girl, adorned in a quilted dark-blue robe and matching slippers, feverishly tore through the massive mess of parchment strewn about the small, cozy bedroom. There wasn't one place that wasn't covered, even... Wynne? After a double-take, the old enchanter still slumbered in a solid wooden rocking chair, her head tilted ever-so-slightly to one side, her hands crossed over one another as they resting in her lap.

The girl brushed her long blonde pigtails over her shoulder, rushing to the next disheveled pile. When her violet eyes caught sight of the lanky boy-intruder gawking about, her temper found voice again. "Instead of gaping like a fish out of water, how about looking in that pile by the foot of the..."

Another ear-piercing bang reverberated through the solid door, echoing through the small bedroom.

Alistair backed away from the door, turning to face it as his raw, bare feet started to step on the mess strewn about. "I don't think it's taking 'no' for an answer." His adolescent voice cracked as he faced towards the door. "No, I'm not interested in your fine selection of absolute mumbo-jumbo darkness... stuff. Ta-ta!"

"Great. Why did you think it was a good idea to let Stupid in?" The girl bemoaned to herself, feverishly searching through the pile she knelt by. With a loud gasp, she held up one of the drawings, rushing towards the hearth. "Is this it?"

Within the large fireplace, the flames had taken a definite shape. Or had there been a being within the inferno all along? He drew closer, trying to see exactly what the child was acknowledging exuberantly. At the heart of the blaze held the supposed savior of his life, her ethereal-blue form was the true source of the roaring altogether. Kneeling down on one knee, her pupiless eyes stared blankly down at her open palms, her endless stream of tears formed small pools in her grasp which cascaded from her touch to pool around her feet, joining with the hem of her long skirts pooled around her.

"Ayda!" Alistair called out to the translucent mirage, rushing to stand next to the little girl. "Look at me... what's wrong? What can I do to help?"

The sheer annoyance was plain as day on the girl's face. "Way to go. She hasn't said more than 'no' since we got here. I thought it might be somewhere amongst my drawings, so far nothing's worked. Do you think she'll answer you?"

The fiery apparition turned her blank eyes towards the pair, blue tears sliding down her blue cheeks. Her mouth moved to form soundless words, her face somber and pained.

"So, no to this as well? Why do you have to be so picky?" The girl crumpled up the paper, tossing it over her shoulder as she returned to the pile she had been ripping apart before.

He continued to watch the shade of Ayda, her vacant stare resting on him as she continued to speak silent words. He had never seen her cry, not even once during their time together. Sometimes, he would catch that same somber expression on her face, but there would never be any tears. Yet her she was in so much obvious pain and he absolutely had no idea what he could do. From the crumpled litter created in the girl's wake, it was evident she had been at this for a long while.

His train of thought escaped out into the open. "Do you even know what it is that she seeks?"

Almost on cue, a heavy mass threw itself at the withstanding door, causing it to rattled on its hinges.

The girl paled visibly, the first snarky retort lost in the sudden surge of fear from the persisting would-be invader. "What does it matter? Now we don't have any time to figure that out and you brought that thing upon us. Good going, stupid."

His gangly legs marched over to the pile of papers the girl was searching frantically. He grabbed up a pile, flipping through what he held to get an understanding of what the little girl had been searching through. From the ones he recognized, he pieced together that he was looking at a child's perspective of the events of Ayda's life. Many he recognized from his past: an unhappy Sten in a cage, Leliana singing by a campfire, the first encounter with Zevran, Morrigan holding a black grimoire, Wynne casting a barrier, Oghren passed out under a table, Kir chewing on a bone and Shale standing next to a flattened chicken. Others he didn't really recognize though it was obvious what he was looking at: one looked like a family with a blonde-haired mother and brown-haired father plus the brown-haired boy next to an erased spot where another figure had stood, all smiling, another was almost the same yet everyone was older. A light smile touched his youthful face, reflecting the happy emotions portrayed in the simplest of scribbles. _Strange. I don't see any of Ayda or myself._

"Wait. Did you draw these?" He asked quickly, tilting the pages so the girl could see what he was referring to. "Wow. Is this supposed to be an ogre? Or maybe Oghren?"

Another massive **BANG **resounded from the holding door, the cracking sound of fracturing wood could be heard accompanying this recent attempt.

Instead of answering Alistair, the girl silent shot daggers at him, rushing back up to the hearth with more samples in hopes in finding the right one. She tried to hold up the whole pile at once with little success.

He tossed down the pile back with the rest, picking up another random assortment to try to figure out exactly what rhyme or reason any of this had. As he crouched low, his eyes caught a brief glint from under Wynne's hands. He continued his search through the multitude of pictures littered all around, his eyes flickering back to the curious object within the sleeping mage's possession. Edging over to Wynne's side, his head bobbed in various directions, trying to ascertain what she held without disturbing her. It was a worn leather book, its remaining detail lost to age and considerable wear, held together with a long, crude silver chain that crossed around it.

Alistair raised an eyebrow, the sense of deja-vu washing over him upon trying to recall where he had seen it. He didn't recall Wynne ever having a book like this one amongst her small collection. If it wasn't hers, it had to be Ayda's. He snapped his fingers, almost in unison with the next loud surge against the failing door. "Her journal. That's it. She was always writing in this, usually after finishing what could be called supper."

"Where did she come from? Did the old lady follow you in?" The wide-eyed girl drew close, her blackened fingers clutching to the next set of scribbles to present. "Huh? What's that? I don't recognize it."

He shook his head, reaching to slide the enchanter's hands gently away from the journal. At that very moment, her slender fingers slipped away from the book, moving to rest in her lap. She remained within her deep slumber, her face full of contentment and peace.

Alistair grasped the top lip of the leather-bound journal. "Thanks for keeping an eye on this, Wynne. Well, you know what I mean." He rose to his feet, staring down at the worn cover, following the chain as he tried to find where it was clasped together. After flipping the book from front to back several times, he couldn't locate where the chain started nor where it ended.

A thunderous groan came from the failing door, the upper planks gave way, splintering into smaller pieces to expose a large gap at the top. A set of mismatched, multicolored eight eyes skittered up to the opening, each looking in a different direction until they all focused on Alistair. A faint chattering could be heard before they disappeared from the hole, leaving only darkness.

"Rrright... It seems we might be out of time." Alistair rubbed his free hand against his clammy brow, knowing full well he might not be able to sidestep out of this situation. He glanced towards the pale girl, watching her back away from the only entrance into the room and from the invader who hadn't invited itself in yet.

"I-it's all your fault!" The girl's voice took on a squeaky, panicked tone. "If you hadn't been running around like a headless chicken, we would've remained safe! I don't want to return to that dark... Oh no! Save me! Hide me!" Her voice escalated into a non-sensible screech, darting behind him as dark tendrils started to creep in all directions through the gaping hole in the door.

Despite the odds being against them, Alistair still mused despite the overwhelming urge to hide. _Great. One scared little girl, one equally frightened young man in an over-sized tunic, a blissfully sleeping granny and the ghost of a beautiful crying woman are all that stand in its way. This sounds like pretty even odds._

The languid shadowy fingers unbarred the door, causing the only part keeping the door from collapsing to fall away. As the door swung open with a loud crash, barely still on its hinges, the darkness sat and waited for a time, as if to savor the delicious inevitability of the situation.

Alistair shuffled back as far as he could, protecting the fireplace and those who stood behind him with the meager bulk of his body. He closed his eyes, calling upon the uncertain reserves of his courage and strength that felt on edge, ready to succumb to the utter exhaustion that crept through his body. No longer could he hear the heartbreaking weeping behind him, the insidious dark swirled at the opened entrance, the chanting of many echoed louder and clearer with each repeated iteration.

**"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."**

He clenched his teeth at the realization of the words issuing from the heavy shadows. Those were the words he had to speak at The Joining back at Ostagar, the very same words spoken to him by Duncan at his very own.

The creeping black continued in all directions, along the walls to the stone ceiling as the thick fog writhed along the floor in its steady approach. The voices ceased abruptly as heavy footfall echoed in its retreat, the very heart of taint taken form stepped slowly through the doorway.

_Maker's breath. Duncan. No, not like this. Maker, not like this!_

The shade of Duncan emerged into the dim light, causing the fog at his feet to spread out in a wide half-arc to enable his progress. There was no color left in those eyes, no shimmer left in his well-worn armaments - the only glimmer left sat in the white-gold chalice held in front of him with both his hands, towards Alistair.

**"Step forward, Alistair."** Duncan spoke sagely, his voice stood dominant amongst the cacophony of voices that mimicked his words.

He glanced down at the heavy weight in his hand. Had the journal always felt so heavy, like a burden shrugged off onto him? Why did he need to carry it anymore?

**"Step forward, Alistair."**

It was an odd sensation to feel his legs pull forward, one at a time. The book tumbled from his numb fingers, bouncing to whatever ends behind him. Everything started to dim as the room was little more than what stood behind him. The chalice, filled almost to the brim with darkspawn blood beckoned.

**"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."** Duncan warned him prudently, stepping ever closer towards his young ward. No longer held in the visage of a young boy, now he stood in battered scalemail and leather overcoat of the King of Ferelden.

Alistair struggled against the deepening desire to drink from the chalice, to appease his mentor. His voice made a low croak, becoming harder to form one straight thought. "I am... I'm already a Grey Warden, Duncan, remember? You were there... so was the chalice and the blood. Oh, I'm so thirsty."

**"There is no turning back."** The voice beckoned him onward.

It was so close. All he had to do was reach out his gloved hands, take up the offering and sate the endless gnawing hunger that threatened to consume him. How could Duncan be wrong? He was one of the only people that ever believed in him.

"I believe." A cool whisper slid over his left ear, reminding him of spring, apples and picnics.

Alistair breathed deep, feeling the very air around him grow lighter, less oppressive. However, it wasn't enough.

"You must stand strong!"

The faint words made sense, yet he could not stop himself. Everything that he needed was in that ornate cup. All he had to do was drink...

"Didn't the Chantry ever tell you not to imbibe strange gifts from equally strange strangers?"

His brow furrowed at the opposing voice at his ear, watching the shade observe him in return, the gift still held towards him, the distance closed to only a few feet between them. Why should he believe an equally strange disembodied voice? He reached out for the chalice, receiving it carefully from hands of Duncan.

"I warn you; don't drink it."

Alistair had the very sustenance he had been starving for all those long years since his Joining. All it would take is a little sip and he could be oh so full. Sated. Complete.

"Fine, fine. Make me do all the hard work. I see being a king hasn't made you a better listener." Before he could bring the cup to his lips, something slid over his eyes. He felt a force push the cup from his hands, falling to the stone with a loud clank.

With the temptation absent from his hand, Alistair lost his sense of balance, unable to see and the sudden rush of his senses returning under his control. He stumbled backwards for only a half-step, his back coming to rest on a gentle warmth, both soft and unyielding despite his full weight collapsing against it.

The velvety voice drifted over his left ear once more. "Keep you eyes closed and your mouth shut. No exceptions." The barrier over his eyes slid away once his eyes were sealed. Two hands lifted his own, placing them against his ears with an insistent push to keep them there tightly. A familiar touch rested on his cheek fondly, drifting along the edge of his beard as it slid away as quickly as it arrived.

The solid presence behind him shifted through him, passing through his very essence. Alistair bit down on his bottom lip, keeping himself from uttering an audible sound at the initial shock. The sensation was foreign and evasive, yet in its wake, he felt soothed, cleansed and revitalized. As it stepped through him, he felt the silken touch of hair caress over his closed eyelids, tumbling down along his cheeks in beard in its departure.

The darkness that had enclosed him started to receded, the malignant chill that he could feel in his bones melted in the growing brightness he feel growing strong against his skin. He couldn't make out the words spoken, their mumbles only resulting in the invader to throw all its might at the fiery brilliance.

Time stood still within their deadlock. The darkness had lost ground, yet it grew stronger as the defender was staring to flag against its assault.

Alistair felt the voracious hunger strike at the very core of him, causing him to waver on his feet. Whatever was occurring in front of him, he didn't have the fortitude to fight the ever-present taint. As the radiance scaled back against him in a massive wave, his feet shuffled backwards awkwardly, his heels hitting something behind him.

Instinctively, his hands shot away from his head, grasping the stone wall to keep himself from tripping. His protection was broken; his eyes flew open, grunting as his quick reflexes kept him from a much heavier impact.

**"Step forward, Alistair."** The shade of Duncan had been driven to the doorway, the same chalice awaiting in his hands once more.

He had to squint to make out his savior encloaked within the golden flames. The loose blonde hair flickered in sync with each wave, her once ethereal body had become solid flesh, her long blue dress had become the center of the roaring inferno, the flames born from the edges of the heavy fabric. Ayda was the very life within, her hands held in front to ward off the tainted image of Duncan.

Her golden-brown eyes turned on him, fierce and anxious as they met his own. Her voice struck him with the same fiery intensity. "Damn it! The book! At your feet!"

Alistair dropped his gaze to his boots, dropping down to one knee to feel about with his gloved fingers. Remnants of darkness tore at the leather, rotting away the material as his touch found the book behind him. The same journal he had lost in the face of his own weakness. As the black snaked across his skin, he felt the return of the all-consuming hunger and the pain it left in punishment for being left unsated.

"Alistair!" Her voice pierced through the haze of his mind. He gritted his teeth against rising torment, summoning the last of his ailing strength to toss the book in her direction. He rested his forehead against his knee, gasping for air in a vain attempt to fight against an inexhaustible force. He slid his sluggish gaze over to where Wynne and the girl should have been, yet they were gone within the flames.

With one hand held out, the book tumbled awkwardly into her expectant grasp. The inferno roared with renewed vigor, enlightening the room in a blinding glow. The book was gone, replaced with an ornate runeblade that she brandished in front of her, causing the shade of Duncan to withdraw through the doorway to submerge itself back into its domain.

The eight multicolored eyes returned, all focused upon the sword directed towards its very core. It could wait as long as it needed to. No one could escape forever.

Ayda caught a piece of half-burnt paper with her free hand, showing the picture towards the entity as it continued to burn in her fiery touch. With every burnt ember, the door chipped away until it was completely gone, leaving only a kneeling king and a dimming phantasm in the bare, solitary room.

He lifted his heavy eyelids, focusing on the soft glow of the woman who knelt close in front of him. There were no words to express the well of conflicting emotions as he stared deeply into her bright eyes. His mouth hung open, his lips trying to find the right words yet finding nothing at all.

The light tapered off in the darkening room, the gentle blue glow originating from her blue dress, bathing them in a soothing afterglow, glinting off the blade that rested by her bare feet. "I'm sorry, Alistair. The best I could do was seal the darkness away; it will linger there and it will eventually find a way to you again."

"Stop." His rough voice commanded. "You're not real. None of this is."

Ayda shook her head slowly, smoothing her hair away from her face in an oddly human gesture. "As much as I'd like to say this is all a bad dream, you know it's not. I'm just as real as the taint that stalks your every step. Right now, the consequences are starting to converge upon a path we forged eleven years ago."

"Stop." Alistair murmured under his breath, his eyes full of the same uncertainty that had dogged his steps since that dream of the picnic. He lifted his burnt right hand to touch her flushed cheek, his rough thumb brushing a small sooty line along her radiant skin. This time, she didn't disappear before his eyes, he didn't awaken to his kingdom; they were here, together.

"It's tempting to stop, to stay, here, with you, Alistair. So very much." Her eyes closed briefly, savoring the weight of his gentle hand on her face. With a flurry of motion, she pushed his hand from her cheek, sliding her velvety arms around his neck to give him a deep, reassuring hug.

"Ayd..." As her welcoming arms encircled him, his half-hearted attempt to argue against this very situation died on his lips. He buried his face into the bare crook of her neck, reveling and regretting taking solace in the arms of the woman who he simply couldn't turn a blind eye to anymore. How could he abandon her when he could feel her shivering against himself?

Ayda slid her fingers into his longish mane, holding him close as much as she possibly could. "To be honest, I'm scared. Petrified, even. Even now, I have no idea what I'm doing beyond going on common sense and gut instinct. I feel the eyes upon, watching, waiting for me, sharpening those black talons to bind me and finish what they started." She pressed her lips gently against his ear, her embrace tightening. "I-I just want to stay here, right here, for a little while. This I know is the one constant in all this madness. Selfish of me, I know."

Alistair rubbed his hands along her back in a soothing gesture, much in the same way he would calm his children whenever they would wake from a bad dream. He started to answer, yet the words froze on his tongue. What exactly could he say that would help? How would he be even able to help? The way her fingers gripped the collar of his overcoat told him more than words ever could. This closeness, the way her fingers felt on his burning skin, the faint fragrance of her, the undying glimmer in her eyes, all of these things fueled him, giving him strength to tackle the world he would return to.

He disengaged her with deliberate care, keeping close enough that their noses nearly touched. She tried to hide her nervous stare, directing her attention elsewhere. One hand slid through her flowing hair, collecting in his grasp as he cupped the nape of her neck, drawing himself close as his lips captured hers lightly. Her fingers pulled desperately on his collar, welcoming him with a hungered passionate response, his other hand resting on her lower back pulled her close as he lost himself in her embrace.

It was not by his initiative that brought it to a conclusion; it came from a sudden flux of the area around them, starting to fade and dissipate all around them. His lips paused upon hers, a sudden fear jolting through his being. He didn't want to wake up. Not yet. He felt a faint smile on his mouth as Ayda drew their kiss to a reluctant close. She ran her fingers over the short trim of his beard along one cheek. "Stay with me, just for a little while. The world can wait a little longer."

He let out a breathy sigh, relaxing his hold on her neck. He pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes aglow with renewed mirth and contentment. "How could I refuse? When I'm with you, Ayda, I am a weak, weak man. Maker's breath, so much for building up all that resolve over the years."

"And how could I refuse? I like the beard." She wore a broad, playful smile that cut through his train of thought. They shared a brief, easy laugh together as if they had never separated or ever been apart. As the silence returned, they sat within each other's arms, finding a small amount of solace before the inevitable storm.

Alistair felt the drag of the dreamscape pulling away, his eyes threatening to close from the exhaustion that this place caused that he could no longer fight against.

"Rest, Alistair." Her soothing voice beckoned his drifting thoughts.

He shook his head tiredly, his eyelids hanging low as he stared into hers. "No. I don't want to leave you here alone. I nev..." Her thumb hushed his words before he could finish the sentence.

"Shhh. I think I can manage first watch." Ayda spoke, sliding his head away from her forehead to rest fully on her shoulder. She pressed a fond kiss to his lips, her arms encircling his heavy form with surprising ease. He found no reason to argue, drifting off faster than he had experienced in years.

Free of nightmares, daily duties and titles, sleep claimed him with gentle, protective care.

For the first time in eleven years, he felt truly free.

* * *

Author's Note: So much for sticking to a schedule. I blame this on the holidays and the lack of free time to write due to being with friends and family. I hope everyone who has read this far has enjoyed the ride thus far, it's finally setting on course with more action to boot! Again, this story ballooned so much that I decided to hold off on Zevran and Morrigan's current fate until next chapter. They'll get a good amount of time at the beginning of the next chapter, I promise. For now, you just have to suffice with a lot of Alistair with some fluff. I'm sure there won't be any objections there. :) Again, thank you for the reviews! It's a true pleasure to read what people think and I hope I'll have many more in the future!


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